


To Put Love in Writing

by LuckyDuck49



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: (only slight angst don’t worry), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 27,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26806276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyDuck49/pseuds/LuckyDuck49
Summary: SOULMATE AU. “Inked” people are rare, and can communicate with their Soulmates by marking their own skin. Elizabeth is reluctant to meet her Soulmate. He appears cold and dull and— dare she say it— conceited. Darcy, on the other hand, is thrilled with his Soulmate, and can’t wait to meet her. Regency, fluff and misunderstandings.
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Jane Bennet/Charles Bingley
Comments: 240
Kudos: 647





	1. Introduction to Ink

**Author's Note:**

> Hey yall! This is my first P&P fic, and I’m really excited about it! I’m doing regency with regency esq. language, please leave me a comment if I get too convoluted tho. The chapters are gonna be relatively short, but we’re gonna have fun with it. Okay? Okay! BUCKLE UP BUCKAROO

It is a truth universally _ignored_ that an Inked child is possetion of good common sense must be in want of their Soulmate. Generally, this is ignored for the sole purpose of mercenary parents and gentefolk who wish to make a fortuitous match with their Inked son or daughter. After being born with those tell-tale darkened fingertips, the children who have the supposed honor of a soulmate are generally thought to be a waste, when it comes to securing a profitable match. The children, commonly, do not understand the significance. And when they do, it is dwelt on in such commonality, that for a time, their thoughts seemingly stray to nothing else but their intended. 

As is natural, the Inked individual will come to experiment with messaging their soulmate. Their fingertips, which are stained different colors (thought to be based on the match’s overall temperament), innocently brush over their skin and, with a little concentration, they are able to stain their skin in other places; which will, naturally, appear on their Solmate’s skin in an exact replica. Most leave messages of love and affection, helping to guide their soulmate through life. Some are lucky enough to meet in person! Most however, don’t.

Many Soulmates despair of finding their match, while others actively avoid it. Once matched, you are unequivocally bound to that person, both in universal law and in that of the court. Inked men and women can lead perfectly normal lives (apart from the intermittent messages on their skin and not being able to marry anyone EXCEPT their Soulmate) and are even considered a step above the average person in some circles! They are thought to have a greater clarity for life, and, although this is not always true, most simply nod and aquiesse, and take the social elevation with relish.

Now, despite the seemingly endless possibilities regarding Inked communication, just like with everything else in life, there were rules of decorum that were most firmly upheld. There were the five main rules of propriety regarding the Inked. Of course, there were common courtesy ones (such as not asking an Inked person about their Soulmate and only writing in discreet, yet publicly decent areas). The four main ones were, however, as follows.

 **One.** The male Soulmate must contact the female; not the other way around. This was to maintain SOME sense of propriety in the young children, and hopefully not introduce the two when they were too young to understand. (Of course, some Soulmate pairs were two men, or two women, for that matter, but those few who found themselves in these particular circumstances often were very discreet, though they themselves figured it out rather quickly)

 **Two**. You must not reveal your last name. Doing so would raise false hopes and expectations, and perhaps remind you that your Soulmate was a real person, and not just a clever strand of squiggles on your arm. 

**Three**. Soulmate communication, when it happened, was sacred. No one must interfere, and no holds should be barred between the bound. They share burdens with one another, and live to hope that one day, they may see the other’s face. This is another reason for why the second rule is important. One must be completely open and pure with their Soulmate, and that entails using only Christian names.

**Four**. Never attempt to meet with your Soulmate by design. If by chance you meet, it will be by God’s intervention. Otherwise, you will live your life as any other human would do, and simply wait for destiny to present itself. Though, that wasn’t very likely, as one’s soulmate could be anywhere in the world at any time.

**Five**. If, by some miracle, you do run into your intended, you MUST marry immediately. It is possible to avoid the binding ceremony (in which the two people touch Inked fingertips and subsequently tie their happiness to one another), but it is rare that one would wish to.

However, if, against all odds, an Inked person FINDS their Soulmate, they can no longer be happy without them. Well, after their fingertips meet, that is, and thus bind the two Souls forever. This is because once you find your intended, the world seems so incandescently right, that, if by chance, your soulmate is disagreeable in any way, you must swallow your pride and tear your prejudice to be with them. For even if you do not like them, you love them. 

And that is why Miss Elizabeth Bennet never wanted to meet her Soulmate.


	2. Early Whisperings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bennets, right after their second child is born.

It was to Mrs. Bennet’s horror and chagrin that BOTH her eldest daughters came into the world with shaded fingers. She would have wailed for hours on end, had she not just given birth on both occasions. 

“OH MR. BENNET,” She finally cried, once she recovered enough to sit up on her own, “What is to become of us?! BOTH daughters— marked! They’ll both die old maids, mark my words!”

Mr. Bennet had just shook his head. He was getting used to his wife’s silliness, and learning to dismiss it out of hand. He smiled down at the tiny infant nestled in his arms, which had taken his example and was ignoring its mother.

The baby was instead watching him with its remarkably bright green eyes crinkled by baby fat, blushed with the rosy pink of new life. It reached up both arms to paw blindly at its father’s smiling face. The ebony sheen of its fingertips reminded Mr. Bennet of when he would stick his fingers in the inkwell by accident. The obsidian color was nothing like the child’s older sister, Jane, whose fingers were stained a bright, cheery navy. 

Inked people commonly had dark colors, this was true, but to be completely black, seemed to Mr. Bennet to be a sign of assurity. This child would brook no arguments. They were night, and they left room for no other explanation or implication. This child would not back down from anything, Mr. Bennet decided. They were a fighter, this one. The blackened fingers curled into tiny fists, punctuating his thought.

“What do you think, little one?” He whispered to the child after the mother has tired herself out with nerves. “Shall you be a fighter, like your papa?”

The child’s face scrunched up, and it sneezed. He chuckled quietly.

“I’ll take that as a yes then.”

The little girl yawned, and began to suck her thumb. Her father cradled her in quiet contemplation. “What do you suppose your name will be, child? Something strong, I imagine.”

He gazed down fondly at the baby, who may have been watching him from behind half-squinting eyes. “Something with options as well. I want you to be in control of your own life, my darling. God knows your mother will try and control it for you.”

He sobered at this, and eventually came to a conclusion. “Elizabeth. Why not that? You may go by the full name, or Eliza, or Beth, even! You will have choices, my sweet, and you will live to carry them out as you choose.”

“But,” Mr. Bennet added softly, “I believe I will choose to call you Lizzy. You look like a Lizzy.”

He rubbed his thumb (non-Inked) over his daughter’s chestnut curls, already unruly and springing free of the blanket’s snug confines. Little Lizzy settled in, and promptly fell asleep.

“Well,” he whispered, “that’s that.”

And with that last remark, Mr. Bennet left his daughter in the nursery, and thanked the Lord that she would never be subjected to his wife’s matchmaking schemes.


	3. Darcy’s View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter this time— mostly going over a young Mr Darcy’s view on his own Inked status

Fitzwilliam Darcy considered himself to be lucky. He had been born to a wealthy family, been blessed with loving parents, and been born with (what he considered to be) a fair bit of intelligence. And, looking past all that, he had been born Inked. That was, perhaps, the greatest blessing of all.

He regarded it as such after he found how tiresome romance to be. All those mothers and their harpy daughters, competing for attention they would never win! And the opposite of that was almost worse— to be struck so blind with love that you fall over yourself in pursuit of some bewitching female, only to have her turn up her nose at you. 

No no, it was all much better to have only ONE person you needed to love and be loved by. Much simpler. Especially if you would most likely never meet them, and so would barely even have to bother with love in the first place!

These were all the thoughts that went through the head of the young Darcy boy when his father explained to him the significance of his pitch-black fingertips.

“Now, my son,” Mr. Darcy said, “Do you understand what it means to be ‘Inked’ now?”

“I believe so Father!” His normally stoic son answered with surprising excitement, “I will never have the burden of love! I will be free to be my own man, and not worry about meddling females ever again!”

Mr. Darcy resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. Instead, he just sighed at his son’s blatant twisting of words. 

“That is not what I am about. The ‘burden of love,’ as you so call it, is more akin to a gift. This person,” he tapped his son’s hand demonstratively, “will be your best friend in the whole world.”

Fitzwilliam regained his composure somewhat, and looked up at his father with a mostly unreadable expression, though some doubt could be construed in the slight furrowing of his already regal brow.

“Better than George?”

Mr. Darcy smiled. “If you play your cards right, then yes. This person will make you better. They will help you when no one else will.”

The young boy’s face twitched towards a smile. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Indeed it is. Now, off with you!” Mr. Darcy exclaimed, “Go run and play and do whatever you do when you don’t have your nose in a book! Get some life into you, my son!”

“Yes, father! I will, father!”

With that, his son ran off outside, and promptly forgot all about the blackness of his fingertips for another half hour. And even after that, he did not try to mark his skin in any significant way, He didn’t want some GIRL to ruin his fun. Not yet, anyway. She probably didn’t even know who Aristotle was. 

So he ignored any smudged marks that appeared mysteriously on his skin. His Soulmate never wrote any messages on his skin (which would have been a SERIOUS breach in decorum anyway). Only twice was the young Mr. Darcy presented a discernible mark from his Soulmate.

Once when he was eight years of age, he discovered a crudely drawn animal on his leg. He supposed it to be a cat, but it looked almost like a horse with whiskers. It was quickly smudged away after an hour though.

The second time was when he was fourteen, and studying hard with his tutor, when he found a few lines of a sillyish poem scribbled out on his forearm in unmistakably feminine handwriting. It read: 

> **_“How the music flows when the piano starts,_ **
> 
> **_And calls forth feelings from many women’s hearts,_ **
> 
> **_But if the notes are flat, Oh Alas! Oh Lackaday!_ **
> 
> **_The party will promptly fall to disarray_ **
> 
> **_And the blame inevitably doing so to Mozart’s.”_ **

He snorted at the saucy words, before attempting to cloak it with a poorly disguised cough when his tutor gave him a warning glare. Young Mr. Darcy tried to go back to his studying, but found his mind being drawn to ruminating on the possibilities of his Soulmate.

What had she been doing that sparked those words? Did she like to play piano, or was she venting frustration about it? Was she as clever and forward as her words suggested, or did she behave differently in person?

Before he could think too hard on the subject however, the words were quickly rubbed out by the very lady he had been thinking of, and replaced with the single word.

> **“Sorry”**

That too was quickly erased, even more so than the last, and it finally occurred to Darcy how improper it had been for the lady to address him first. Judging by her hasty retreat however, it was plain that she realized her mistake before he had. He wondered for the first time whether he would like her.

If she was even half as witty as her words suggested, he thought he might.

He restrained himself from replying though, deciding to wait until he was marginally well-adjusted to his rigorous workload to contact his Soulmate. Until then, he continued to dream about what this woman would be like. As young boys in the throws of adolescence often do, he dreamed of a woman made just for him, and imagined with careful planning exactly what she would look like, and how she would act. 

She would have darkish hair, he decided, and not smile too much. He did not care what color her eyes were as long as they were tolerable, he supposed. Her body did not matter so much, as long as she was handsome enough to tempt him. He hoped she would have some brains to her as well. If there was one thing Darcy could not abide, it was females who presumed mundane personas, and hid who they really were. He hoped his Soulmate would be honest. He hoped she would be beautiful. He hoped she would love him immediately and unconditionally. Actually, he didn’t so much ‘hope,’ as ‘know.’ He knew how she would be— he planned it! 

After meticulously making a perfect Soulmate in his mind, it was difficult for Darcy to remain indifferent to his own power. But, he restrained himself. He wanted to wait, at least until she would be of an age for sensible conversation. He was also a bit worried about coming on too strong. So, he never once used his skin to reach out to his Soulmate. He bided his time, and waited for the perfect moment.

That moment turned out to be a warm summer night some years later. Darcy had escaped the confines of his father’s study (after his mother’s death years earlier, it had become cold and distant— much like his father) and now sat cross legged in the garden, back against a stump, watching the stars fade in and out of sight between wispy gray clouds. The wind was humid and caressed his face. He felt at peace.

That was when he knew— it was time to write to her. Finally, after much deliberation on his part, he took one inky black finger, and carefully traced out a message on his wrist, taking pains to be clear and concise.

> _“Hello, Soulmate. What is your name?”_

Pleased with his own discretion and restraint, he sat back against the stump, and waited for a response.


	4. Waiting for a Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, Lizzy waiting for her Soulmate to reach out to her. He really is taking his time, and she’s none too happy about that.

Elizabeth Bennet was thoroughly frustrated with her Soulmate. One believes, if they have a partner for life, that the partner will, at some point, ACTUALLY CONTACT THEM. 

Her older sister, Jane had been communicating with her own Soulmate (Mr. Charles) for YEARS now. And Mr. Charles seemed to be perfectly delightful, by Jane’s descriptions. Even if his penmanship was horrid. 

Jane had been contacted when she was eight years old, with the words,

> **“My name is Charles, what is yours?”**

Lizzy knew this, not because she was a snoop or a gossip, but because they had appeared on poor Jane’s hand at the dinner table— IN BOLD LETTERING! Though mortified, Jane later learned to laugh at her Soulmate’s eager attitude (through Lizzy’s persuasion of course). Jane had been happy that her Soulmate had contacted her so early, and now conferred with Mr. Charles every night, after talking with her sister, of course.

Elizabeth waited patiently for her Soulmate to do the same. Once, when she was eight, she had been practicing piano with her mother. Her mother, though not happy about being forced to spend time with her “wasted” child, took the lesson very seriously.

“If you don’t learn how to at least LOOK like a lady,” Mrs. Bennet had said rather shrilly, “You’ll bring shame on us all! Well. More than you already do, what with.. with your _flaunting_ your curse.”

‘The curse’ as she called the Ink, had been a source of disgrace in Mrs. Bennet’s eyes for as long as her daughters could remember. Especially after she discovered that her eldest daughter was by far the most beautiful. Oh, how she wailed when she realized that her poor, poor Jane was “SO BEAUTIFUL FOR NOTHING!!”

Elizabeth didn’t think of being Inked as a curse. She thought of it as an opportunity— an opportunity to find some who truly understood and sympathized with her. So, when her mama had her head turned, she had written out a brief poem symbolizing her frustration at learning piano.

She had been rather proud of it too.. until her mother caught sight of it, and immediately wailed and berated her child for her crude behavior.

“He hasn’t contacted you yet! Your ONE CHANCE at matrimony— RUINED! What will he think of you now?!”

Elizabeth, startled by her mother’s outburst, had raced to smudge out the poem, and wrote,

> _“Sorry”_

Her attempt at recompense had apparently been even worse, as her mother wailed louder, and sent her disgraceful child upstairs immediately, without any supper. Elizabeth had fumed for hours, but was struck with the hope that maybe now her Soulmate would reach out to her! 

He didn’t.

He didn’t contact her for years and years, until Elizabeth almost started to believe he hadn’t been born yet. But finally, one summer night when she was twelve years old, she got a message. 


	5. First Impressions Gone Awry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fairly long chapter this time. Finally, Darcy reaches out to his Soulmate, with mixed results. Not being able to see one’s face during a conversation, they find, leaves it open to interpretation. Fun chapter to write, hope y’all like!

> **“Hello, Soulmate. What is your name?”**

And... that’s it. Nothing else. Nothing. Elizabeth soothed her frustration by reasoning that maybe he was young, maybe he didn’t know how rude it was to inquire someone’s name without introducing yourself first. Thinking this, she quickly scrambled to seek privacy (finding it on the windowsill of her bedroom, with the door locked) and wrote a message back. She kept it brief, hoping that would convey her annoyance.

> _ “Lizzy” _

Almost immediately, she got a response. It did nothing to soothe her worries that she might not like her Soulmate. In fact, it just irritated her further.

> **“Is your name Elizabeth?”**

She huffed.

> _ “Yes, but I would like you to call me Lizzy.” _

Unbeknownst to her, many miles away, on a grand estate in Derbyshire, her Soulmate smiled down at his arm. His Soulmate wanted him to call her by a nickname! This boded very well for their future relationship, he thought.

> _ “Very well,”  _ he wrote, “ _ Lizzy it is then.” _

Lizzy herself matched his grin with a glare, directed at the frustratingly neat handwriting on her wrist. Beginning to lose her temper, she wrote back a response with as much restraint as she could muster.

> _ “And what is your name? I doubt I’m to call you ‘Soulmate’ through all of our conversations.” _
> 
> **“No, I don’t think that will do at all.”**

There was a pause, and Lizzy wondered idly if he had any manners at all. Finally though, he responded.

> **“My name is Fitzwilliam.”**

Ahh. There it was. She tilted her head, and regarded the inky lettering on her arm. Finally, she wrote back,

> _ “No, that just won’t do. It’s much too long for simple messages, I’m afraid. Do you have any nicknames I could employ?” _

Mr. Darcy frowned. The only nickname he’d ever used was “Fitz,” (Wickham’s idea) and he had always hated it. No, he would rather the love of his life call him by his actual name, thank you very much.

So Lizzy got back the simple response of,

> **“No”**

She rolled her eyes at her Soulmate. Evidently, this would be harder than she had thought. But then she grinned, and wrote out a cheeky response designed to fluster and embarrass.

> **“Well then,”** Mr. Darcy saw appear on his wrist,  **“I shall call you endearments. Do you prefer ‘my love’, ‘my sweet’, or ‘my dearest, sweetest, love?’”**

Mr. Darcy’s ears turned a violent shade of pink, and he let out an involuntary shiver, as he imagined a perfectly handsome woman whispering love in his ear, her plump, rosy lips brushing his neck as she murmured into him…

He shook off the daydream and, grinning, wrote back,

> _ “You may call me whatever you wish, Lizzy.” _
> 
> **“Alright, my dear.”**

Lizzy hoped that by using the endearment her father employed when he was cross, she would discreetly show her Soulmate how his first impression had affected her. Unfortunately, it affected HIM in a much more pleasant manner. He smiled, but made no response.

> **“So…,”** Lizzy eventually wrote,  **“Will you tell me about yourself?”**
> 
> _ “Of course,”  _ Mr. Darcy wrote back,  _ “What would you like to know?” _
> 
> **“Oh, do tell me whatever you wish me to know. I find that practice makes for a much more concise character sketch.”**
> 
> _ “Well, I’m from England, I have a little sister, am 18 years old, and like to read classics. Especially Shakespear.” _

Lizzy wasn’t sure what to make of that. He was six years older than her! At least when she was grown that wouldn’t matter so much. She would just think of him as she did the Lucas brothers down the street. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of the rest of his answers though..

On the one hand, he read Shakespear! Surely, that signified prestigious academic potential, as well as the possibility of intelligent conversation! But, then again, his answer had been.. rather bland. Rather dull. She hoped he wasn’t always like this. But Lizzy decided to humor him for now, and molded her own response to mirror his.

> _ “Well, I’m also from England, I am the second oldest of five sisters, am 12 years old, and also enjoy reading. Shakespear is indeed a prolific writer; I enjoy his pieces tremendously. Do you prefer his plays or his sonnets?” _

Mr. Darcy stared down in abject horror at his wrist, stuck on one phrase. ‘12 years old. 12 YEARS OLD. By God, he was practically tied to a toddler! He was almost a man, and here he was, mooning over a prepubescent vixen!

He wrote back a hurried response, severing the conversation immediately.

> _ “I am very sorry Lizzy, but my father is calling me. I must go. It was a pleasure to meet you.” _

As an afterthought he added,

> _ “The sonnets and plays both have their own merits. I prefer Hamlet and Midsummer Night’s Dream over the sonnets, but the sonnets over A Comedy of Errors. Perhaps they are equal to King Lear. Now I must go. Goodbye.” _

And with that, he rolled his sleeves back down, and closed his eyes, trying to erase all the racy fantasies he’d concocted of his Soulmate. She was a mere child, by God! He would NOT be falling in love with her, that was for sure. 

Elizabeth, for her part, stared, dumbfounded, at her wrist. The nerve of this boy! She huffed again, and pulled down her sleeves. She was convinced for a whole half hour that she wanted absolutely NOTHING to do with her Soulmate. He was old, and besides that, rude! 

Eventually, after relaying some of this to Jane later in the night, Lizzy realized that her Soulmate could have, perhaps, been truthful in his hurried excuse. She would have to give him the benefit of the doubt. He did like Shakespear, after all. So he couldn’t be all bad.

She tried to put all thoughts of the aggravating Mr. Fitzwilliam out of her mind, with little success. Elizabeth closed her eyes, but sleep was a long time coming.


	6. Love, Loneliness, Laughter and Latin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wooo, this is a big boy chapter right here! Longer than my usual work, but I did a lot of research. Darcy and Elizabeth finally have their first real conversation, and sparks fly. Fluff and fun. Latina sola, liberos meos ;)

The next morning, Fitzwilliam Darcy woke up to a message on his arm. He groaned, as it was very early in the morning and he did not want the distraction of. Another conversation getting in the way of his morning walk. The message read,

> **“Are you well-versed in ancient poetry?”**

Grumbling, he wrote back,

> _“Not when I can avoid it.”_

Immediately, an answer appeared, this time on his hand at a different angle.

> **“You mentioned you did like some sonnets. That implies you have some poetic preferences.”**
> 
> _“Elizabeth. If you don’t mind my asking, why on EARTH are you asking about poetry at six in the morning?”_
> 
> **“I do mind you asking, thank you very much.”**

She must have erased her own messages, because her words suddenly blurred and disappeared. Darcy, though loathe to admit it, had his curiosity piqued. 

> _“Lizzy?”_ He wrote, _“Lizzy are you there?”_
> 
> **“I’m here. Sorry for being short with you. I was just frustrated.”**

Darcy sighed. Apparently, even Soulmates require effort in conversation. With much glowering, he complied with her unspoken request for a question.

> _“What are you frustrated about.”_
> 
> **“I don’t know Latin.”**
> 
> _“What?”_
> 
> **“I don’t know Latin and Papa says he won’t teach it to me until I can prove I’m ready for the intellectual challenge. I suppose he’s teasing me, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”**

Darcy furrowed his brow. He himself hadn’t learned Latin until he was at least 15. And even then, it was because his tutor had enticed him with original Roman texts and first edition novels. Why would a young woman of twelve want to learn Latin? He asked her as much, and she answered promptly.

> **“To see if I like it, of course. And to understand more about history; many of the books in the library have whole passages in Latin, and I’m tired of not understanding them.”**
> 
> _“What does this have to do with poetry, exactly?”_
> 
> **“Oh, yes. As a “test” to see if I am ready, papa gave me a poem written in Latin, and provided me with some references to seek out meanings. I already know all the words and translations, I just am having difficulty grasping the meaning. I only have an hour left until Papa decides whether or not to teach me.”**
> 
> _“And you want my help, I assume.”_
> 
> **“If you don’t mind.”**

Darcy did mind, but he put it aside for now. He was well and truly awake, and he might as well have a little early morning stimulation. He rubbed his eyes and continued to write Elizabeth as he rang for the valet to help him dress.

> _“Fine. Will you write your translation of the poem then?”_
> 
> **“It is very long. Shall I start with just the first few lines?”**
> 
> _“Why not.”_

As he waited for Elizabeth to show him her translation, the valet arrived and began to assist Darcy into his waistcoat. The man politely averted his eyes from the dark words on his young master’s arms. He simply rolled the crisp sleeves of his undershirt to allow Darcy some view of her response. After some time, carefully written words appeared on his forearm, cramped and delicately spaced.

> **“And if Roman people by chance ask me why,**
> 
> **I take delight in the same galleries as they, yet not**
> 
> **The same opinions, nor follow by or flee from what they love,**
> 
> **Or hate, I’d reply to them as the cautious fox once replied to**
> 
> **The sickly lion: ‘Because those tracks I can see make me afraid,**
> 
> **For they all go towards your den, yet none travel afar.”**

Darcy looked at the words for a moment, then shook his head in amusement. He waved off the valet and pulled on his coat. He scribbled a quick reply (his handwriting still impeccable, despite his haste), and raced off to the library.

> _“Elizabeth,”_ he had written, _“I believe I know that poem. Pray, wait a moment and I will fetch the book post haste.”_

After fetching the book of Horace, Darcy sat down in the drawing room and began writing to his Soulmate.

> _“Alright, you got the majority of the words translated correctly, with only a few minor errors. ‘Travel afar’ should be ‘lead away’, and ‘galleries should be ‘colonnades’, but other than that (and a few added words) you did commendable well.”_

Her response was immediate. 

> **“I thank you, but what of the meaning? I believe it is meant to point out the flaws of Roman people, but I also see a wisdom in (his version) of their reasoning.”**
> 
> _“What do you mean? It is satirical— he is clearly trying to condemn the Romans, not give weight to any arguments.”_
> 
> **“Yes but, who can deny their reasoning? Horace is speaking of reaping the benefits of Rome without falling prey to their, as he implies, savage ways.”**
> 
> _“He implies the contrary,”_ Darcy argued back, his finger digging into the soft flesh of his arm in his excitement, _“From the simple fact that he is satirical poet, his paying compliment to any society ultimately negates any negative ramifications his statements might exude.”_
> 
> **“Where in the poem does he pay compliment to the founders of Western society? He says THEY speak of their accomplishments— not he. You are mistaken sir. He is painting them as proud, not good.”**

They went back and forth like this for the better part of an hour. Every argument Darcy proposed, Elizabeth took the negative. When they did agree, it was immediately followed up by yet another disagreement. Before this, Darcy would have supposed that having every opinion contradicted so blatantly would have been unpleasant. But no, he found it almost… invigorating. Elizabeth was a worthy opponent. Perhaps the Soulmates were actually similar in some ways, even if that way was that they were complete opposites in debates. 

He forgot how young she was, forgot about her impudence and inexperience, and legitimately ENJOYED himself, for the first time in far too long. She was clever and unrelenting in her defense. He.. he admired her. Almost ardently, in that moment.

Abruptly though, their little “conversation” came to an end when Elizabeth stopped replying suddenly. Darcy wondered if he had done something wrong before she returned.

> **“Bother! Look what you did, Fitzwilliam!”**
> 
> _“Pardon me? What did I do?”_
> 
> **“You distracted me! On PURPOSE! You.. you.. RAPSCALLION, YOU!”**

Darcy laughed in surprise at her sudden, childlike fury, startling a passing footman. The footman hurried off to spread the news that the young master Darcy had been LAUGHING. And SMILING. The other servants would grow to be in awe of the mysterious lady who caused the normally apathetic boy to act so carefree. The last woman to do that had been his mother. And even she hadn’t made his face light up in quite that manner.

Darcy himself though, didn’t even notice the footman’s surprise, or the later servant’s gossip. He was absorbed in the words appearing on his arm, his dimples (all but forgotten by the servants) gracing his cheeks as he watched Elizabeth’s explanation form.

> **“Now the hour is up and I didn’t have a proper thesis prepared because you distracted me with the debates and now Papa is disappointed in me and I’ll never learn Latin! IF YOU WEREN’T MY SOULMATE I WOULD HATE YOU, FITZWILLIAM!”**

Though he laughed, Darcy felt a pang of guilt for causing the young lady grief. Sobering his smile, he calmly wrote out a reply.

> _“I’m sorry, Elizabeth. If you want though, I could teach you Latin.”_

A pause.

> **“Really?”**
> 
> _“Of course! Just, maybe in the morning or early evening— as to not interfere with either of our schedules.”_

If Darcy had been able to see her, he would have positively _melted_ over the brilliance of the smile that now graced his Soulmate’s countenance. Instead though, he was simply subject to her gratitude via Ink.

> **“Oh Thank you so much Fitzwilliam! I can’t wait to learn; I’m sure you'll be an excellent teacher :-)”**
> 
> _“Well I’m so sure about that, but I’ll try m—”_

Darcy stopped short.

> _“What was that?”_
> 
> **“Pardon? What was what?”**
> 
> _“That.. that little face you drew. What was it for?”_
> 
> **“To... convey how happy I am? It was a smile?”**
> 
> _“You can’t convey facial expressions through writing.”_
> 
> **“But I just did, didn’t I?”**

Darcy couldn’t very well argue with that. Instead, he let out a tired sigh that ended in a chuckle, and made his adieus.

> _“Well, sorry as I am to end such a pleasant tête-à-tête, I’m afraid I am in need of some breakfast.”_
> 
> **“Now that you mention it, I am rather peckish myself. It was nice talking to you, Fitzwilliam.”**
> 
> _“Likewise. Good day, Elizabeth.”_

With an inward shake of the head, he added,

> “:-)”

He was rewarded with another (unseen) brilliant smile, and a smaller one drawn on his forearm. Just before he rolled up his sleeves however, he spotted one last message from Elizabeth.

> **“By and by, Fitzwilliam— I still think Horace was wrong about the Romans.”**

Unable and unwilling to let her get the last word in, he wrote,

> _“Barba_ _tenus sapientes”_

He received no reply. He was happy anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The correct translation of Horace’s excerpt is:  
> “And if the people of Rome chanced to ask me why  
> I delight in the same colonnades as them, yet not  
> The same opinions, nor follow or flee what they love  
> Or hate, I’d reply as the wary fox once responded to  
> The sick lion: ‘Because those tracks I can see scare me,  
> They all lead towards your den, and none lead away.’”  
> In case you were wondering :)


	7. A Sisterly Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regular chapter length. Lizzy and Jane chat about Soulmates. Just building up to the next conversation.

“Jane, have you finished your nightly tête-à-tête yet?”

Jane looked up from her arm and smiled at her younger sister. 

“Just a minute more; Charles is describing his family home to me.”

At the look of shock on Elizabeth’s face, Jane blushed and quickly amended her statement. “Oh, not location! Just about the estate and the horses and such.”

“Ah,” Lizzy said knowingly, “As well as all the places he would have you see, were you together.”

“Lizzy!” Jane admonished, coloring prettily.

Her sister grinned up at her. She was currently under the bed, laying on her back in a decidedly unladylike position, with her chestnut curls curling around the sleeves of her nightgown.

“Please let me know when you finish. I have a matter (though of little significance) I dearly wish to discuss.”

Jane, mildly intrigued, agreed and, as politely as she could, cut off her dear Soulmate with a quick goodnight. She then leaned over the bed to gaze down at her sister.

“Well?” She asked, propping herself up on her elbows, “Pray tell, what do you wish to discuss?”

“ _ Jane,”  _ Lizzy drawled teasingly, a grin making its way up her sculpted features, “His name is Fitzwilliam.”

“Whose name?”

Lizzy merely raised her eyebrows in response, and Jane all but fell off the bed when the realization hit her.

“Oh, OH! He contacted you! I knew he couldn’t be as negligent as you said! Pray, what was he like?”

Lizzy shrugged. “Hard to say. He seemed.. rude. Detached. Almost.. apathetic, at first.”

“But then,” she continued smilingly, “he helped me with Latin and we debated the poets!”

Jane sighed. “Oh.. Lizzy…”

“What?” Lizzy said defensively, “He participated as much as I!”

“That may well be, Lizzy, but we both know your… ah, DEBATES, as you so put it, tend to have more pugnacity than those of a courtroom.”

“I daresay courtrooms could benefit from the passion.”

“Lizzy, do be serious!” Jane cried, distressed, “This is not some schoolboy friend of father’s! This is your SOULMATE! You must try to be kind and courteous; especially on first impressions.”

After a brief silence, Lizzy aqueised. “I will try,” she promised. 

“Will you?” Her sister asked, her soft face puckering in worry.

“I will, I will! You have my word.”

“Good,” she sighed, flopping back onto the covers in relief. “I would hate for your Soulmate to harbor any bitter feelings from a misplaced opinion in your early years together.”

Lizzy laughed. “My dear Jane, I do believe that is the least heartfelt sentiment I have ever seen in you! Tell me, are you ill? Did the sweetness in your heart finally turn your brain to pudding?”

Jane giggled, and tossed a pillow at her younger sister. It bounced harmlessly off the floor by Lizzy’s torso. They both laughed, more quietly this time, conscious of the late hour, before relaxing into companionable silence. 

“Lizzy?”

“Mhm?”

“Do you like him?”

“You mean Fitzwilliam?” Jane nodded and Elizabeth pondered the question. 

“I don’t know,” she answered after a great contemplative stretch. “I believe.. I believe it is too soon to formulate my opinion. I think he is intelligent and well read, if a bit stiff and.. morose? I know not how to describe him.”

Jane nodded again, sagely, and Elizabeth let out a little gasp. “Oh! I did not tell you this part!” She sat up eagerly, scooting out from under the bed to better divulgar the secret to her favorite sister.

“Fitzwilliam is…,” she paused for effect, “EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD!”

Jane said nothing. Her eyebrows twitched, but the silence stretched on.

“Well?”

“Well what? So is a bit older than you, that’s not—”

“Six  _ years _ older! _Charles_ is only two years older!”

“Lizzy, what have we said about interrupting?” Jane said patiently, “And anyway it is not unusual for Soulmates to be a bit.. varied, in ages.”

“I suppose,” Lizzy replied dejectedly, “but he came across as even older than that. He seemed very high and mighty, like his opinions were worth more than mine!”

Jane chuckled. How similar Mr. Fitzwilliam sounded to her own darling sister. “What are we to give him then Lizzy, if we know not what to make of his character?”

“I am guessing a piece of my mind is not an option.”

Jane pulled her younger sister’s face up to her own, and looked at her seriously. “You give him the  **benefit** of the  **doubt** .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I’m not sure if Lizzy is completely in character or not for this chapter. She seems a little more rude than she is normally, but I’m attributing it to her being relatively young and comfortable around Jane. Even so, if yall have any suggestions of how to better the story, please don’t hold back! Thank you so much for reading, and have a great day! 🌸


	8. Romeo O Romeo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute chapter where Darcy doesn’t want to go to a party, but his Soulmate helps his mood lighten slightly. Very unapologetic fluff. :)

So Elizabeth tried her best to be an attentive and amiable Soulmate for the next six months. Fitzwilliam and she would discuss philosophy and physics, etiquette and architecture, literature and.. well, mainly just literature. She found that her Soulmate was quite well-read, and had rather interesting opinions. She mostly disagreed with them, but they were interesting.

Lizzy found that she enjoyed speaking with Fitzwilliam so much, she would often leave him little messages throughout the day. She would scratch out words she liked, or try to doodle on her wrists (though her artistic abilities were still laughably ill). Fitzwilliam rarely returned the favor (which was disappointingly frustrating), but when he did, it never failed to make her smile. 

He would oftentimes leave her a witty comment on her apparent mood that day, or tease her about her drawings. They weren’t always kind, but she could tell he was being sarcastic. She liked that. She didn’t feel as strongly opposed to Fitzwilliam’s company as she used to.

Darcy however, felt even more strongly towards his Soulmate, though almost none of the feelings were negative. He felt.. something, whenever he saw a message from Lizzy. Some warm feeling that curled like woodsmoke around his rib cage. Some feeling that made him smile, that made him warm and soft and happy. Made him feel good, even on the worst days. He supposed it must be the Ink working its magic. 

But her words were witty and charming, her sentences structured delicately around sloppily drawings of flowers and ribbons. More than anything, he wanted to meet this young woman. That was why he was so discontented at the moment.

> _“My god,”_ he wrote on his calf as he sat cross-legged, waiting for his valet, _“I cannot believe my father agreed to this.”_
> 
> **“Oh cheer up,”** came the looped letters, chipper and uniformly charming as they swirled into existence on his shin, **“a little party will do you some good!”**
> 
> _“Yes, but this is less of a party and more of a marital breeding ground.”_

The event in question was a winter’s ball, where Darcy’s father made an appearance every year. This time, he decided his son was old enough to come along and meet all the notable figures of the Ton. He strongly hinted that a few desirable young ladies would be in attendance, which made Fitzwilliam’s blood boil.

> **“Doesn’t he realize you’re Inked?”**
> 
> _“I believe his memory has become selective at a most inconvenient time,”_ Darcy answered ruefully.
> 
> **“Well.. it won’t do any good to sit and mope around like a sad puppy now, will it?”**

Darcy could just imagine Elizabeth’s playful grin as she wrote that. The thought almost made him smile. Almost.

> _“‘Tis easy enough for you to say, my dear. YOU are not the one subject to Miss Juliet’s inane conversation and immorally immodest dresses.”_

Miss Juliet was a woman of the Ton, the same age as Darcy, though much less… much LESS, in Darcy’s opinion. Her family was wealthy, but the poor girl lacked any talent for conversation, and continuously wore dresses whose decollages dipped far lower than any self-respecting gentleman would care to see on a scrawny sixteen year old, no matter how rich. Darcy’s father however, saw her as an opportunity.

If his son was unable to marry, Mr. Darcy supposed, then he could at least take a mistress and carry on the family name with a bastard heir. Fitzwilliam was, understandably, horrified at the proposal, and dutifully avoided Miss Juliet (and any other ladies his father thrust his way) at every opportunity. Fitzwilliam had managed to fake illness or excuse himself early on other occasions, but there was no getting out of the winter ball. Not when his father had set his mind to it.

His subsequently self-pitying sigh was interrupted by another message from his true beloved.

> **“Poor Miss Juliet. I wish you would at least TRY to be civil to her; it might be good for you to make a new friend.”**

Darcy’s eye twitched. He hadn’t told his Soulmate the particulars of his father’s plan, but he dearly wished he had now, if only to stop her well-meant comments over Miss Juliet.

> _“Elizabeth— she is not the kind of girl who wants to be a man’s ‘friend’. She is looking for love, and I for one, am NOT about to give it to her.”_
> 
> **“But FITZWILLIAM! How romantic would it be if you were to sweep her off her feet at the ball! Dance away the night! Make her realize that love is not a toy!”**

Darcy thought for a second before replying.

> _“No.”_
> 
> **“How soon is the ball?”**
> 
> _“Not for another quarter hour. Why do you ask?”_
> 
> **“I’m going to make sure your Juliet isn’t discouraged by what I’m sure will be your sour expression.”**

Before Darcy could ask the silly girl what she meant, a word appeared on his calf, in bold, loopy lettering.

> **“ROMEO”**

And then again, on his arm,

> **“** **_ROMEO”_ **

And now on his stomach and shoulders,

> **_“ROMEO ROMEO ROMEO”_ **

Horrified, Darcy looked in the mirror to find his cheeks were now peppered with Inky black hearts. Then he started to laugh. He laughed until he couldn’t breathe. This was better than anything ANY of the ladies at the Ton would EVER dare to try. This was wild, this was untamed, this was his lovely, lovely Elizabeth.

By the time he regained his breath, Darcy’s red face colored in the hearts that still decorated his skin. 

> **“Thank you,”** he wrote, **“I needed a laugh.”**
> 
> _“My pleasure :-)”_

At the sound of his valet coming up the hallway, Darcy from the conversation on his wrist. He schooled his features and straightened his underclothes before he realized he was still practically undecent, as he was covered in Inked messages and an embarrassingly abundant number of hearts. 

> _“Okay Elizabeth, I have to go.”_
> 
> **“Oh well. Parting is such a sweet sorrow. Farewell, and have fun at the party, Romeo!”**
> 
> _“Wait Elizabeth, you still need to erase the hearts.”_

_…_

> _“Elizabeth?”_
> 
> _“Elizabeth are you there?”_

As it turned out, his Soulmate had figured out a way to get him out of the party after all. Darcy just wished she had been more conservative with the hearts, and hadn’t added the Inked lipstick marks to his hands. To say the least, it was a very interesting night after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this was the last chapter where they’re both youngsters. Let’s move on to plot! Buckle up yall! ;)


	9. Having a Ball!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing young adult Elizabeth, and the Bennet horde— I MEAN FAMILY. just kinda fun filler chapter to ease y’all into it :)

Just under a decade later, Elizabeth Bennet —no longer an impertinent little girl, but rather a lovely and impertinent woman— woke up with a headache. She groaned, and rolled over in bed.

She heard Jane’s sweet voice from the other side of the room.

“Lizzy! Lizzy, are you ill?”  
  
“No, I am well,” Lizzy groaned, “it just seems this morning is not agreeing with me.”

Jane laughed, a light, tinkling sound, and shook her younger sister’s shoulder. “Oh dear. Will you be requiring the apothecary? Or will you simply need peace and quiet?”  
  
Lizzy chuckled. “I do not believe either of those will be likely or required of me, no matter how much I might yearn for the latter.”

“GIRLS!! GIRLS, COME DOWN!” their mother’s voice shouted up from the stairs, “I HAVE SOME MOST DIVERTING NEWS!!”

Lizzy resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she sat up in bed. “Do you think she means for me to come down in my nightgown?”

“No, I am sure she would be disappointed if that were the case.”

“Dear Jane, she would be disappointed even if I came down in the queen’s finery, as long as my fingers are still black.”

Jane smiled, if a bit sadly, and helped her sister change quickly. Elizabeth took a moment to check her arm for a message from Fitzwilliam. He had been rather distant lately; indeed, she hadn’t experienced a silent stretch from him like this since last summer.

He hadn’t told her all the particulars (as it was rude to ask for specific names and places from Soulmates), but had related to her that his younger sister had almost been taken advantage of by a scoundrel by the sea. Elizabeth had consoled him as best she could, but he remained rather cold and aloof. He still confided in her, but it was in a more somber, serious tone than their youthful banter. Almost like he talked to her out of duty, rather than pleasure.

This message was no different.

> **“I have just arrived in the country with my friend. It is passably pretty, but nothing to my home. I wonder if you would like it. Will be busy today; no time for conversation ‘til evening. Good day.”**

Elizabeth sighed at the briefness. She was hard-pressed to admit it, but she missed talking with Fitzwilliam. But, she understood he had been very busy as of late, and had not the time for drabbles over Latin anymore. Fitzwilliam’s friend had bought a country estate, and Fitzwilliam was asked to travel along, to aid in the new business. Elizabeth kept the tidbit that her Soulmate was a land-owner to herself. Mama had already gone into fits when she got wind that Fitzwilliam had attended cambridge. 

This idle train of thought was proven when Elizabeth finally came downstairs to find her mother in hysterics over a new gentleman neighbor. Oh, pardon me, I did not recite the full title. A new, RICH, gentleman neighbor.

“Oh, my girls!!” Mrs. Bennet shrieked, “He will be perfect for my girls!!”  
  
“He and all his 5,000 pounds a year,” Mr. Bennet muttered dryly, winking at Lizzy, who had to smother her laughter behind tightly shut lips.

“Oh, oh, Mr. Bennet, you MUST call on him! Immediately!”  
  
“Why should I call on him? He is nothing to ME.”

“But he must be made to marry one of our girls! If he is half as amiable as the rumors say, he would be PERFECT for our Lydia!”  
  
“Wha’?” Lydia said, a roll blocking her voice and spilling out through her cheeks.

“Lyddie, dear, take smaller bites,” Jane reprimanded quietly.

Lydia swallowed with great self-importance. “I do not know, Mama. What if he is ugly? I could never marry an ugly man, no matter HOW rich.”  
  
“Lydia!” both Jane and her mother exclaimed, though for very different reasons.

“Lydia, you will marry him if he asks, and encourage him if he doesn’t!” Mrs. Bennet shrieked.

“Oh lord,” the young girl grumbled, rolling her eyes. 

Elizabeth would have scolded her if she didn’t agree so much. With two daughters unable to marry, Mrs. Bennet took up matchmaking as a lifestyle rather than a hobby. To be frank, it was exhausting.

“When will we meet him, mother?” Asked, Mary, the middle child.

“Oh it will not matter when YOU meet him Mary, I’m sorry dear, but you’re too plain to attract someone as wealthy as Mr. Bingley.”  
  
Mary nodded (the anything-but-subtle insult going unnoticed due to its unfortunate commonality). “But when will we meet him?”

Mrs. Bennet grinned, looking more like a wolf than a woman. “There will be a ball at Meryton at the end of the week. I’m sure he will dance with all our handsome girls!”

The girls she directed this last statement to, Kitty and Lydia, were absorbed in their own raptures at the mention of a ball.

“Eeeee!” Kitty squealed, bouncing up and down on the couch.

“A ball! A ball! We’re going to have a ball!” Lydia gasped, her grin lighting up her face. “There will be dancing!”  
  
“And punch!” Kitty added.

“And gentlemen!”

“Lots and _lots_ of gentlemen!”  
  
Both of the younger girls were quickly immersed in their own conversation, if you could call it that. They giggled and spoke in sharp, overlapping whispers. Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth rolled their eyes in perfect synchronization. 

Elizabeth, for her part, was looking forward to the ball. She enjoyed dancing, and even if it didn’t have the martial prospects of her younger sisters. And she was happy to welcome new faces to the neighborhood; maybe there would be some intelligent conversations to be had, who knows!

‘ _A ball could be a wonderful thing_ ,’ Elizabeth thought with a faint twinkle in her expressive green eyes, ‘ _when one is not going in with expectations.’_

However logical she might fancy herself however, there was always the slight, foolish part of her that whispered that maybe, just maybe, someone would show up in Hertfordshire who was special. Special to her. Someone with wit and tact, someone with a beautiful brain and inky black fingertips. Someone who would smile, and smile just for her.

Elizabeth shook her head. It was unlikely that she would ever meet Fitzwilliam in her lifetime. And even if she did, it would not be out in the country, at some ball with hardly 60 people in attendance.

She smiled, despite herself.

It couldn’t hurt to hope, Elizabeth supposed. She just couldn’t set her heart on something that would probably never happen. Never in a million years.


	10. Getting the Ball Rolling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> half Darcy view, half Elizabeth. Introducing the Ball at Meryton. Splitting it up from the next chapter, cause y’all already KNOW thats gonna be a whopper ;)

Mr. Darcy was in a decidedly bad mood. He had been forced to spend an entire day in the company of Bingley’s two insufferable sisters, the weather looked to be turning foul, and his head hurt (either from natural causes or as of the result of Caroline Bingley’s obnoxiously shrill laughter). He wanted to take some scotch, lock himself in his room, and chat with the only amiable female he knew (other than Georgiana) before going to bed early. What he did not want to do was go to this ball.

It was a country gathering, filled with people who made less money in a year than what Darcy spent on his shoes, and, so far, all the people were utterly intolerable. To make matters worse, he hadn’t had time to properly confer with Elizabeth, his one solace, for weeks on end. 

The excuses ran rampant in his already pounding head. He had been too tired. He had been too bad-tempered. He had been too anxious. Too busy. Too exhausted. Too overworked and ill prepared even to hold a conversation with the one person he looked forward to talking to. 

Unconsciously, Mr. Darcy ran a hand over his gloves. They covered his obsidian-black fingertips rather well; though whether he should take that to be a blessing or a curse was anyone’s guess.

It meant that no one could make nosy assumptions or pose weighted questions about things they did not understand. Namely, his relationship with Elizabeth and whether or not he would take a mistress to preserve the family name (the latter of which always prompted a resounding ‘NO’, though very few people “of quality” actually listened). 

However, concealing his Inked status also meant he would be subject to all the women flinging themselves at his feet. God, he was sick of it. It got embarrassing to watch, really. He only would love one person in his life, even if he never had the good fortune to lay eyes on her. 

“Mr. Darcy? Mr. Darcy!”

The man in question snapped his own dark eyes open at the sound of his name, and glanced bewilderedly around the carriage. Caroline Bingley smiled at him. She showed too many teeth.

“Oh dear, Mr. Darcy. You seem to have fallen asleep!” She simpered.

He did not even attempt a reply. He simply set his mouth into a firm line and inclined his head enough to be polite. Not that this harpy cared whether or not he responded.

“I daresay that would be a pleasant way to spend the evening,” Miss Bingley chuckled, her lips riding up her pinched face and revealing brightly colored gums, “To sleep away the night and not be subject to.. ah,  _ undesirable _ company.”

“I wonder why you insisted we attend, if your opinion were so, Miss Bingley,” Mr. Darcy replied, his annoyance creeping into his deep voice (not that anyone noticed).

“Yes Caroline,” Mr. Bingley piped up, “I thought you were anticipating this ball with much.. ummm.. much, um, anticipation.”

Miss Bingley sniffed delicately. Her nose remained high in the air. “I suppose you are right.”

She then turned towards the window, which was a great relief for all parties involved. Especially the Inked gentleman with the dark unruly curls, and brooding expression that quickly soured as the man realized the carriage had stopped and he was about to be expected to be civil.

Darcy sighed.  _ Could this night get any worse? _

* * *

_ Could this night get any better?  _ Elizabeth thought as she twirled around the room. Her dress was a pale green, the color of forest mist and mint plants, and it caused her bright green eyes to flare with color whenever she smiled, which was often.

There was just so much to smile at! The music was light and pleasant, the food was superb, and there were so many eager dance partners!

Despite the fact that gentlemen were scarce, Elizabeth found her dance card to be a popular one. Much to her mother’s chagrin however, all the gentlemen were simply seeking advice to pursue other ladies; Elizabeth, being marked, was seen as a more filial figure than a potential bride (even if her laughter was intoxicating, and her hair rich and wavy).

After thanking the youngest Lucas boy for the enlightening information of his preference towards Miss Mary King, Elizabeth sat out for a dance, conversing quietly with Charlotte Lucas. So there she was in a perfect position to regard the newcomers to the ball. 

They arrived “fashionably late” as Londoners would say (Elizabeth preferred straightforward punctuality), and the dance floor all but came to a standstill when they entered the room. 

One of the gentlemen, the shortest one, with an unfortunate build and wine red face, was nothing out of the ordinary. He immediately made his way to one of the dining tables, dragging along a shortish woman whom Elizabeth supposed to be his wife. A tall, spider-like woman with an absurd amount of feathers in her hair, stood elegantly against a wall. Her dress was eye-scorchingly bright. 

That left two gentlemen. The first was of average height, with a blue coat and a great aire of playful joy about him. He smiled like a Labrador retriever and bowed to Sir William Lucas, introducing himself as the fabled Mr. Charles Bingley. He wore gloves and a bright grin that seemed to be fixed on his handsome face. His hair was ginger. Elizabeth immediately felt that he would be a welcome addition to their neighborhood.

The last gentleman however, she wasn’t so sure.

He was a great, tall man, with impeccable posture and an expensive raven coat, accentuated by pristine white gloves. His hair crowned his regal head with messy black curls. He had chiseled features that would have made Elizabeth blush furiously, had they not been set in so disagreeable a manner. He grimaced as an acknowledgment to Sir William Lucas, and glared about the room. 

He locked eyes with Elizabeth, and she thought she could feel her heart stop. His intelligent eyes were dark pools of earth and magma, strata leading down their dark corridors, leading up to his very soul. They were framed with thick lashes, shining with the light of a thousand stars. He rolled them delicately. 

All favorable qualities Elizabeth may have seen before fell away at this, and she raised her chin defiantly, not caring that her green eyes were now glaring at the stranger. This man was going to be insufferable, she just knew it. And the rest of the night only heightened this belief. Whoever this man was, she was glad she would never have to tolerate his company for more than a night. Fate couldn’t possibly be so cruel.


	11. Insufferable Man (“Gentleman” Indeed!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lengthy chapter. Jane/Bingley comes into play. Soulmates to find, misunderstandings to be had, love to lose and lavish. ENJOY! :D

Less than a half hour later, she was introduced to the two new gentlemen by Sir William Lucas, who was innocently bustling around the room, just happy that everyone was enjoying themselves, and muttering, “capital, capital!” At every opportunity. 

“Ah, Miss Elizabeth!” He said, touching her arm lightly to get the young woman’s attention, “May I introduce the new owner of Netherfield park, Mr. Charles Bingley!” 

Mr. Bingley smiled graciously, and took her hand in a bow. He had taken off his gloves, and she noticed his fingers were stained a deep navy. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows as he did his head. Could this carefree man be Jane’s beloved Mr. Charles?

“A pleasure to meet you.. Miss…?” Mr. Bingley trailed off.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” she said.

“Ah, yes! Well, Miss Elizabeth, would you be so kind as to introduce me to your family? I wish to know all my neighbors before time slips away from me!”

“To be sure,” Elizabeth affirmed, looking past the amiable man, to his friend, who was standing like an ominous cloud over their conversation.

“Oh, forgive me,” Mr. Bingley said, remembering his manners, “This is my good friend, Mr. Darcy.”

The man said nothing. He merely looked at her, his expression unreadable. Elizabeth began to feel uncomfortable in the silence, and quickly led Mr. Bingley to where Jane sat nearby. Mr. Darcy was still watching her the last she saw.

“Jane,” Elizabeth said smilingly, “May I introduce Mr. Bingley of Netherfield.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Jane all but whispered. Her pale blue eyes were fixed on the handsome stranger, who looked equally starstruck. Elizabeth smiled to herself. Yes, Mr. Bignley would do nicely for her sister. 

Regaining his senses, Mr. Bingley blinked, and his face broke into what Elizabeth was starting to realize was his natural disposition: a huge smile.

“Miss Bennet, if I may be so forward as to ask, why is a lady as lovely as you sitting out of the dance?”

Jane blushed prettily, and replied, “Gentlemen are scarce, sir.”

“Well I can remedy that,” Mr. Bingley said with a blinding smile. “May I be so bold as to procure your hand for the next set?”

She smiled at him.

Mr. Bingley moved forward as if to collect her hand immediately, and her smile grew. “Sir, I believe you are too eager. There are at least 5 more minutes left in the present set.”

“Oh,” Mr. Bingley said, his face falling along with his hand. “I apologize, Miss Bennet, I was too hasty.”

He moved as if to leave, but Jane, realizing her mistake, laid a delicate hand on her arm as if to stop him. Mr. Bingley looked down wonderingly at her navy-stained fingers. 

“I would be delighted to dance with you, sir,” Jane said, blushing as she looked away, missing the man’s face light up like a christmas tree, “but in the meantime I would.. Not be opposed to getting to know you better. We are strangers, after all.”

“Of course, of course!”

After that, Elizabeth politely excused herself (not that the two blossoming lovebirds noticed), and walked back to her previous chair. 

On her way, she passed by Mr. Darcy, who was looking at her with what she assumed to be disdain. His dark gaze flicked from her to Jane and Bingley, his face stony and impassible. She shuddered lightly. Something about him seemed both discouraging and..intriguing? Like she needed to be by him, even if she couldn’t stand the sight. Not that he wasn't the most handsome man she had ever met— just his demeanor was such that she felt uncomfortable in his presence.

The night wore on, and eventually Mr. Darcy gave up even the pretense of trying to make conversation. Removing his crisp white gloves, he relieved his Inked status to the room, uncaring of who might see his obsidian hands. Elizabeth watched him with great interest as he seemed to write something on the back of his hand.

Suddenly realizing the impropriety of watching one commune with their Soulmate (albeit in a very public place), Elizabeth averted her eyes down to her lap, embarrassed. 

Then she gasped. Loudly.

She could feel Mr. Darcy’s catacomb eyes on her, but, with all her strength, Elizabeth managed to keep her face as inscrutable as possible. She knew, without looking, without a doubt, that her hand now bore a message from her Soulmate. From Fitzwilliam. Fitzwilliam DARCY. Fitzwilliam Darcy was her Soulmate. Oh god, she was going to be sick.

“Excuse me,” a deep male voice said, “Miss Bennet? Are you unwell?”

Elizabeth looked up into Mr. Darcy’s face, her green eyes glazed over; seeing everything, seeing nothing. His cold, hard features were softened and pinched with concern. Elizabeth blinked, and, with some difficulty, schooled her face into a serene, untroubled expression. 

“I am perfectly well, I thank you.”

Mr. Darcy looked unconvinced, but had the good manners not to press the matter. Before he could say anything else however, Elizabeth took her leave before she could lose any more of her composure. She could still feel those dark, handsome eyes boring into as she walked away. 

Once she made sure his back was turned however, Elizabeth ducked behind a column, where she could see him, but she remained out of view. She peeked around the column, and watched her Soulmate straighten his lapels with a sense of..giddy unease pooling in her stomach.

 _Fitzwilliam was here. In Hertfordshire._ And he was Mr. Darcy, the most unsociable man in the room. Elizabeth almost giggled. How like Fitzwilliam that sounded— to sit out of every dance and glare at all the young ladies, coming across as a pig-headed snob when, in fact, he must be in inner turmoil about how to make smalltalk.

_Mr. Darcy wasn’t a snob,_ she thought. _He was probably just uncomfortable!_ She wondered idly how he would react when he realized SHE was here. She hoped she would be able to make him smile. Before she could do anything foolish, she checked herself. This was it. The night that changed her life. She couldn’t wait to tell Fitzwilliam.

Instead of approaching him immediately, she elected to send him a discrete message, supposing it would be both more romantic and somewhat lessen the shock. Before she did however, Elizabeth looked over what her newly discovered Soulmate had written on her hand.

> **“Remind me again— why do you enjoy balls?”**

Elizabeth grinned. Hopefully he would find this particular ball VERY enjoyable. She didn’t write that though. She simply replied,

> _“The dancing. Especially when one finds a.. special partner.”_

Fitzwilliam’s response was immediate.

> **“I do not know what sort of balls you attend, but I assure you, there is no one ‘special’ here.”**
> 
> Elizabeth frowned, writing, _“Oh my love, I am CERTAIN there is.. SOMEONE you would particularly want to dance with.”_

Across the ball room, Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy shake his head, his mouth twitching up into an insincere-looking smile. New words appeared on her wrist. There words made her heart feel like it was being squeezed in a steel trap. _Oh, no, Fitzwilliam._

> The words read: **“I highly doubt that, Elizabeth. THIS ball is all country bumpkins (pardon my language, but it is true). They are all either uncouth or uneducated; or some combination of the two. Even those... with commendable qualities are tainted by association. I am sorry to offend your admirable kindness, but I can state with complete certainty that NO ONE here is special. I’m sure you would feel the same.”**

Tears stung Elizabeth’s green eyes. Surely not. Surely this could not be. Such a speech would have normally made Elizabeth cluck her tongue at Fitzwilliam’s unfriendly attitude, but laugh at the description. She felt rather ill. To hear her Soulmate’s sharp tongue lash out at her own friends —her own family!— felt like a thousand rotten apples were boiling inside her.

As she was regaining the ability to breathe properly, Fitzwilliam Darcy had the AUDACITY to look her way, frown, and write out the final, short-sighted straw.

> **“For example, there is a young woman currently staring at me. She is** **_barely_ ** **handsome, and even if she were a beauty, it would be negated by her improper behavior. She all but fainted when she saw I was Inked! No doubt it ruined the “lady’s” mercenary hopes to compromise me in some way. It has been attempted before. Elizabeth, I am so grateful you aren’t here with me. I’m sure you could not stand such a person, and she is one of the better ones at this event. I am not sure if I am missing you or simply missing solitude.”**

That. That was what did it. Fitzwilliam Darcy had just lost all good favors from his Soulmate, even if he didn’t realize it.

In fact, his Soulmate was debating whether or not to slap him across the face for insulting her in such a way. Before she did anything rash however, a loud shriek from across the ballroom stopped her.

“A MATCH!! IT’S A MATCH!!”

Just like everyone else in the room, Elizabeth’s eyes were drawn to where her sister and Mr. Bingley stood, staring at each other. He had Jane’s hand in his own (presumably leading her to dance) with a blushing, starstruck look on his face. Jane’s smile was brighter than the sun. His was brighter than a supernova. 

Elizabeth smiled, despite the sick feeling in her stomach and the flurry of thoughts racing around her head. Maybe tonight wasn’t the worst night of her life after all. 

Her sister had just found her Soulmate.


	12. Flurry of Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time. Elizabeth collecting her thoughts of her Soulmate. This is where the angst starts to rear its head, so if ur in it for the fluff, might want to hold off til I post next. The next one will be a bit more lighthearted, I promise :) love y’all

Elizabeth’s head was spinning by the time she found herself situated in the carriage back home. The rest of the ball had been a flurry of commotion; a match between Soulmates was even rarer than the blue mood. Poor Jane and Bingley had barely spoken two words together after they matched, when they had been whisked away by their respective families and bombarded with congratulations.

“I can hardly believe it,” Jane had whispered to Lizzy, during a lull in the ballroom’s heightened chatter, “I am the happiest woman alive! I can only hope that one day Lizzy, you will find your Soulmate. Then you will be as happy as I!”

  
“I doubt that,” Elizabeth had tried to joke. The words had left the charcoal taste of bitter truth in her mouth. 

Jane hadn’t noticed; she just smiled widely, and hugged her sister tight. Elizabeth held her close, trying not to think that soon her dearest sister would be leaving their house, to live with another. She tried not to think about how she had lost both her dearest confidants in one night.

Indeed, she no longer knew what to make of Fitzwilliam. He seemed like an entirely different person from the proud Mr. Darcy. Yet, remembering the man’s harsh words, Elizabeth flinched. There could be no mistaking it. They were one in the same. 

Fitzwilliam had never been.. not loving, exactly, but she could imagine him so, in the flesh. He came across as a subdued, yet passionate man, arguing intensely about morals and philosophy, yet being tender and caring when Elizabeth needed it. He had been a source of comfort, even if he was but letters on her skin.

Mr. Darcy however.. she couldn't imagine him smiling, much less saying the words Fitzwilliam wrote. Mr. Darcy seemed to be inclined to hate everyone and everything around him. Was he being kind to her, simply because she was his Soulmate? And if that were the case, once they were married, how long would it be before the tender FItzwilliam dissolved into the hateful Mr. Darcy?

Elizabeth wasn’t sure she could stand being tied to someone who so blatantly hated her, her family, and everything that she held dear. She wouldn’t be able to stand living with him, seeing his disdainful glare everyday of her life… and much worse, not being able to leave. If they were bonded, no matter how miserable he might make her, she would be a thousand times worse off without him.   
  
If he was as proud and hateful as his words, then, if she fell out of favor, he might extract himself deliberately! What would she do then? How could she ever love someone who hated her so?

And the worst part was, she loved Fitzwilliam. Loved him dearly. She remembered his kind words, his playful banter, his companionship whenever she felt alone in the world. Somehow, she could not tie in THAT Fitzwilliam with the one in the ballroom. The one that looked at her like she was nothing— no, even worse than nothing. Like she was the worst, the lowest, the most  _ unpleasant  _ thing he had ever laid eyes on.

No, she wouldn’t do it. She would not tell him. She would not stand by his side, through thick and thin, and hold his hand as the world crumbled away. She would hide her face, and never tell Fitzwilliam Darcy that the one he hated so, was the one he had been fated to love.    



	13. Unlike Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy struggles, both with his own demons and the ones presented based on circumstance. He finds himself hating everyone, including himself. And why isn’t Elizabeth responding?  
> Longer chapter this time. Enjoy!

At the ball, Mr. Darcy’s mood had taken an exponential nosedive. First, he had been subject to all sorts of mercenary mamas (who did not know or care that he was Inked). Even those who weren’t seemingly out to get him were annoying, at best. 

At one point in the night, a rather pretty young woman had gasped loudly for no apparent reason, drawing Mr. Darcy’s attention. He had already noticed her before (she was.. not… bad.. to look at), and then her fine eyes had been fixed on him with such.. such FEELING that it made Darcy want to… to... he didn’t know what. He got tongue-tied just looking at her. Which may have been the reason he had not taken part in any conversation after he saw her.

Only after he saw the young miss staring at him from behind a column did Darcy remember he had taken off his gloves beforehand. He wilted inside. She was just reacting to his Inked status. She was probably trying to see if he liked her, if she could win any favors. 

Darcy had looked away and harshly berated himself. THIS was what you get when you start to fancy someone other than your Soulmate. Whoever this temptress was, she could mean nothing good for Darcy. However fine her eyes.

Trying to distract himself, he had vented his feelings to the one person he knew he could trust. He grew increasingly frustrated however, when Elizabeth continually encouraged him to dance. He didn’t want to dance with anyone but  _ her _ , blast it! 

Stewing in his own misery, Mr. Darcy had disparaged the young woman to prove (more to himself than anyone) that she felt nothing for him, and he felt less than nothing in return. He needed to remind Elizabeth (and himself) that he would never love anyone but her. That green-eyed temptress meant nothing. Nothing!

He had been ejected out of his thoughts by a resounding pandemonium that erupted in the ballroom. Bingley, the lucky bastard, had found his Soulmate. A Miss Jane Bennet. Miss Bennet had a serene, untroubled countenance that would have made Darcy doubt her affection, had the proof of her attachment not been LITERALLY written in ink.

Soulmates were a tricky business, in Darcy’s world. He and Elizabeth had had their fair share of…  _ disagreements _ over the years. He would try and convince her that he was right, and she would dig in her heels. In a moment of weakness, after one of Elizabeth’s scathingly valid arguments against a core belief, Darcy may or may not have made a comment about her family’s possible breeding and woken up to the word  **“R U D E”** written in ginormous lettering across his forehead for an entire day. 

It was torture to see how easily it all to Bingley.

Charles had found his Soulmate, swept the young lady off her feet, and obtained her hand in marriage (and stolen a chaste kiss on the cheek) all in one night.

As Darcy came to reiterate through the night,  _ lucky bastard. _

Darcy’s own Soulmate hadn’t responded to his messages for the rest of the night, which was unlike her. He had legitimately gotten worried (what if her health was failing her? What if he couldn’t do anything to help?) when, just as he was about to blow out the candles, a message appeared on the inside of his arm.

> **“How was the rest of the ball?”**

Darcy raised an eyebrow. Surely Elizabeth must be exhausted— he had been very clear in how he felt about the ball. Giving grace however, he wrote back,

> _ “It got worse, I’m afraid.” _

There was a pause. When her handwriting returned, Darcy noticed (with pleasure) it was a lot neater than usual. Elizabeth seemed to be choosing her words carefully. He could appreciate that.

> **“I’m sorry to hear it. Was there any particular event that occurred to make you feel this way?”**

Darcy debated telling Elizabeth about his friend’s bonding. Eventually, he decided against it. That information would only raise her obvious hopes of meeting him. He didn’t want to disappoint her. So he told a white lie, just to spare her feelings (not his own).

> _ “Nothing of consequence. My friend dragged me to the ball. If something of significance happened, it went unnoticed.” _
> 
> Tactfully changing the subject, he asked,  _ “But what of you, my dear? We haven’t had the chance to speak much recently. Has anything excited occurred on your end of the world? :-)”  _

He added the smiling face, hoping it would sufficiently distract from his ham-fisted topic change. It took her a while to respond.

> **“We have some new faces in our neighborhood. Other than that, no.”**
> 
> _ “What, new neighbors? How splendid,”  _ Darcy wrote, grateful for the safer subject.
> 
> **“One would think so,”** Elizabeth responded cryptically.
> 
> _ “What do you mean? Are they unpleasant?” _
> 
> **“Not all of them. The landowner himself is very cheerful and kind, and seems to take a great interest in our family. Unfortunately however, the rest of his party is not so amiable.”**
> 
> _ “Oh no. Are they brutish? Is there anyone’s ears that need boxing? If so, I will procure a stallion and ride to you post haste!”  _ Darcy joked.
> 
> Elizabeth’s response (which he had expected to be teasing, or at the very least,  _ witty _ ) was,  **“I may take you up on that offer, Fitzwilliam.”**
> 
> _ “Has someone offended you, my dear?” _
> 
> **“You could say that.”**
> 
> _ “Pray tell, what happened?” _

There was a pause.

> **“Nothing so egregious. A man of the party, whom I at first took to be very handsome and thought of fondly, turned out to be a haughty, hateful man who never liked me in the first place. However, he did not mean for this information to fall to my ears, and treated me with cold civility (if nothing else) afterwards. How shall I respond? Oh, and let me be clear, he insulted not only my character, but my friends, family, intelligence, and overall breeding. All in one swift blow. Yet he was not being cruel; that was his legitimate opinion, however hateful! I know not how to think.”**

Mr. Darcy frowned down at his arm. First, Elizabeth had been taken with another man, which already made Darcy’s blood boil just to think about. Then, he had insulted her? What, was he a simpleton? Elizabeth was undoubtedly the most agreeable woman he had ever spoken with— anyone who thought otherwise must be thick in the head. 

> _ “Elizabeth— whether or not a comment is well-meant is virtually irrelevant. What MATTERS is how it is received. If this man caused you to feel embarrassed or uncomfortable in any way, you should not pretend otherwise. Treat him with as little grace as you see fit, I trust your judgement. Besides, if he insulted YOU, he is most likely blind, deaf, and an idiot to boot.” _

Elizabeth’s response was short.

> **“Thank you. That was.. most enlightening, Fitzwilliam. But I am afraid I have to go.”**
> 
> _ “Goodbye,”  _ Darcy wrote, feeling cheated that their conversation had been of such short duration.

He then wiped his arm clean, undressed, and flung himself into bed, hoping it would hasten his dreams. It worked, but the cost was almost unbearable. The whole night through, Mr. Darcy was tormented by self-flagellation and fine eyes. After midnight, he roused himself, drenched in sweat and..  _ roused _ in more than the mind, re-lit a candle and sorted through papers on his desk. 

He would not be disloyal. He _would not_. He loved Elizabeth, and would never do anything to hurt her. He must have written her a dozen times during the night, all proclamations of love, where he most imprudently shared his birth name, address, and practically begged her to love him. He managed to erase them all before his mind ran away from him. 

Darcy didn’t know what to do. How was it possible to miss someone you had never met? In the end, he fell into a troubled sleep at his desk, his foot in his mouth and his heart on his sleeve.


	14. Resolve via Avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortish chapter this time. Lizzy thinks on her Soulmate and comes up with a plan. But Jane’s illness gets in the way, and she must learn to be flexible. If only she knew how to proceed..

Waking up the next morning with half-erased proclamations of love on her wrist (where Fitzwilliam did the unthinkable and shared his name and address, albeit half smudged in sleep) was difficult for Elizabeth. 

She had no idea how to proceed. She didn’t want to race blindly into matrimony, even if he WAS he Soulmate, but it also felt wrong to purposefully avoid him. Ultimately, Elizabeth had asked the one person he used to think she could rely on.

Who then essentially called himself an idiot, and was so oblivious Elizabeth was beginning to agree with the assessment. She would have laughed if she didn’t feel like crying.

To make matters worse, Jane had ridden to Netherfield for tea, and taken ill along the way. Mrs. Bennet had sent her thus, hoping that if she fell ill she would be subject to more time with her Soulmate. Mrs. Bennet didn’t seem to understand that Bingley would marry her whether or not he spent time with her beforehand. 

But now Jane was ill, and Mrs. Bennet was giving her second youngest daughter an ulcer.

“Oh Lizzy, why can’t you be more like Jane? SHE found her Soulmate, just like I always said she would! 5,000 a year, clever, clever girl!”

“Mama! Are you hearing me?” Elizabeth cried, exasperated beyond belief, “Jane is not on a honeymoon! She is bedridden, all alone in an unfamiliar house! PLEASE Mama, let me go to her.”

“What? No! Absolutely not! You will just get in the way of the happy new couple!”

“Actually,” Mr. Bennet interjected, “I do not believe it is prudent to have an unmarried daughter living under the roof of another man— Soulmates or no. Lizzy could go to act as chaperone.”

Mrs. Bennet spluttered indignantly. “No no! Lizzy will only get IN THE WAY! Jane is practically married already, so—“

“So it will not be wise for her to live with her intended,” Mr. Bennet interrupted. “My decision is final. I will not give any man even the CHANCE to take advantage of my children. Lizzy will go to Netherfield.”

“Oh thank you Papa!” Elizabeth exclaimed gratefully.

“Well, you’re not taking the carriage,” Mrs. Bennet said, as if she had any say in the matter.

“I have no need for the carriage. I will walk.”

“Walk?!”

“Yes, mama. Walk.”

“WALK TO NETHERFIELD?!?”

“Yes. That is what I said. I will return when Jane is well. Goodbye mama!”

Before Mrs. Bennet could positively explode with the force of her disapproval, Lizzy kissed her father on the forehead and all but ran to the door. She shut it behind her, the sound of her mother’s wailing traveling through the thick wood. She smiled. At least SOME things would never change.

Elizabeth realized about a quarter mile down the road that she hadn’t thought this entirely though. She had forgotten her coat and bonnet (which wasn’t terrible) as well as her gloves (which was more difficult). Her inky black fingertips were now on display for any passers by to see! Worse, she was going to  _ Netherfield.  _

Fitzwilliam was at Netherfield. The cold Fitzwilliam, the proud aloof Fitzwilliam. The Fitzwilliam of flesh and bone, the one that hated her without knowing her. Elizabeth shook herself out of those unpleasant thoughts. 

Today was a new day. Perhaps things would be different. Perhaps the infuriating man would realize his improper behavior and apologize! Perhaps he would be in a better mood today, and smile at her as she walked in. Perhaps he would fall in love with her for HER —not just because she was his Soulmate— and sweep her off her feet, their laughter intermingling until he stared at her with those earthy dark eyes, his full lips moving forward to brush her own...

NO! Elizabeth would not be taken advantage of by foolish daydreams. She blushed at her own wantonness. She could not allow herself to be…  _ distracted _ like this. She must trust the Fitzwilliam she knew; not Mr. Darcy, but her Soulmate. The one that cared, and smiled, and helped her along. She would take his advice.

So it was that Elizabeth arrived at Netherfield, her petticoat six inches deep in mud, her blackened fingers in full view, and was resolved to adhere to her plan: she would treat her Soulmate as if he was just another man, no more and no less. 

Unfortunately, things don’t always go.. according to plan.


	15. Almost Charming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth’s mood improves as she walks to Netherfield. On the way, she runs into a very familiar stranger, and, lost in her pleasant feelings of freedom, forgets to be cold and indifferent. Longish chapter this time. I know I like it— hope y’all feel the same! :)

In fact, almost as soon as she stepped onto the grounds at Netherfield, everything went awry. Of course, she didn’t realize it at the time. 

Elizabeth herself was captivated by a bluebird that circled overhead. She grinned up at it, pushing her cinnamon locks behind her ears, only to have them bounce back again. She laughed gaily, and mussed her hair, giving up on it entirely. She then walked with a bounce in her step, picking flowers and herbs from the wilderness around her, arranging them carelessly in her messy chestnut hair.

The day wasn't  _ clear _ persay, but the clouds diffused into the blueness around the edges, light filtering through their fluffy, effervescent canopy. The air was warm and cool at the same time, and Elizabeth raised her arms over her head, stretching to enjoy the delightful breeze. 

Someone else was enjoying their morning as well, though for a very different reason.

Mr. Darcy had not been his best self lately, and he knew it. He had been pugnacious and miserable, hating himself for not being happy. He had woken up that morning to find, to his horror, that he had NOT in fact erased all the ill-fated messages from his arm. He did so at once, disgusted with himself. Thankfully, he had done so fairly early in the morning, so there was a good chance Elizabeth hadn’t seen them. 

He had decided to take a walk to clear his head. The day was gray and a strange temperature that was strange somewhere between perfectly hot and perfectly cold. Darcy hadn’t known what to wear. He thought about asking Elizabeth, but he didn’t want to bother her with trivial matters. Besides, the last time he had sought her advice in regards to fashion (years ago, when he was still naive to her teasing abilities), Elizabeth had called him a Prissy Peacock. It had made him laugh for the first few days, but it got embarrassing after the second week. 

So he had simply thrown on a waistcoat and jacket had headed outside without even brushing his hair. He had just needed to get away from it all. The confining walls, the strict social standings.. He just wanted to be _ free. _

So when he saw the young woman from last night dancing through the field, he didn’t turn his nose up in disgust as he watched her run her hands through her hair and smile up at the heavens. Indeed, he almost… he felt a pang in his chest. An uncomfortable warmth that pressed in on his sternum whenever her green eyes caught the light. He wished he was brave enough to say something to her. 

He forgot all about her improper staring the other night, her lowly connections and lack of monetary value. He wanted her right then. So badly. But, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch this goddess on Earth skip through the fields, laughing at the sky with her eyes closed and making his cold heart twitch with an unnamed feeling he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Mr. Darcy was so wrapped up in his thoughts that his dark eyes had glazed over, and he forgot where he was and what he was doing. He even forgot that this wasn’t a dream, for a moment.

Reality came crashing back when the young woman, no longer a goddess but a human once more, ran right smack into him. 

* * *

Elizabeth’s reverie was abruptly shattered when she bumped into something solid and warm, that smelled like wool and soap and honeysuckle. She snapped her eyes open, and looked up into Mr. Darcy’s stunned face, only inches away from her own. 

She leaped backward as if she had been burnt —and indeed her face was as flushed as any victim of a fire— and mumbled an apology. Her mouth felt numb, like the words weren’t forming correctly.

“Pardon me madam, I was not watching where I was going.”

  
The man’s cheeks were tinged an adorable shade of pink, and he looked about as flustered as she felt. Elizabeth chuckled at the absurdity of it all. 

“I assure you sir, the blame falls entirely to me. If my gaze was obstructed by my own absentmindedness, you would  _ have _ to lose focus in some way! ‘An eye for an eye,’ after all.”

  
His lips twitched, and it looked almost like he was about to smile. “I do not believe this circumstance is quite what the saying had in mind, Miss…,” he trailed off awkwardly. “Forgive me, I do not believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

  
Elizabeth bit her lip to stop the biting response that was on the tip of her tongue. “Of course,” she said with some difficulty, “My name is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  
She watched him closely, and looked on with satisfaction as he started slightly, before schooling his features once more.

  
“A pleasure, Miss Bennet,” he said shortly, “I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. In Derbyshire.” 

Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow, but otherwise did not react in any abnormal way. She thought he looked a little disappointed, but it may have been wishful thinking.

“Derbyshire. My aunt grew up there, I believe. Lovely country.”

  
“Indeed.”

He stood there for a second, staring at her with those catacomb eyes. She resisted the urge to look away, and instead met his scrutinizing gaze with the hint of a smile in her face, forgetting that she was supposed to be indifferent. Eventually, he cleared his throat and broke eye contact. 

“Are you, uh, here to see your sister, Miss Bennet?”

  
“Yes. Will you take me to her?”

  
“Of course.”

  
He offered Elizabeth his arm, and she took it, with only a little trepidation. She ignored the jolt of electricity that ran through her fingers as they came into contact with the fabric of his coat. It was rough, and she thought she could feel the muscles underneath working as they walked. She tried not to think about how close he was. How the warm, clean smell of him enveloped her like a hug, closing in around her doubts. 

She leaned imperceptibly closer to him. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

Little did she know how affected the poor man was by her presence, how he was fighting to stay coherent and alert as his mind and heart waged war, neither realizing they were two sides of the same coin. 

  
The two walked on, one hesitantly hopeful for affection, and the other losing his resolve to not show any. How well they suited one another. Fate could be a charming companion, in the world of love. Quite charming indeed.


	16. Improving on Closer Acquaintance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy’s view as he leads Elizabeth through Netherfield. Witty conversation, inner thoughts, starts of slight angst and leads to fluff. Lots of fluff. All the fluff. Mountains of fluff. Like a chao chao that rolled in cotton candy and is giving out free hugs— type of fluff. Literally made me squeal. Hope yall like!! :D

Darcy was in inner turmoil. On the one hand, he was happy. On the other, he hated himself for being happy. It was exhausting. 

Beside him walked what was quite possibly the most enchanting creature Darcy had ever beheld. He could feel the twitch of her hand on his arm, feel the heat rising off of her body, the smell of rosewater and sunbeams wafting from her cinnamon curls. The flush in her cheeks— it made her eyes twinkle and shine like something magical and mystic, like jewels, or a major chord on a piano forte.

Just being around her was intoxicating; Darcy felt lightheaded and his happiness bordered on delirious.

When Darcy saw her fingers —as black as his!— his heart leapt out of his chest. Could she be…? But then he realized something. He had told Elizabeth about the ball; hell, he had even written her there! 

If Miss Bennet truly was his Soulmate, she would have told him so, have given him some sort of sign. _Everyone_ wanted to meet their Soulmate, especially young ladies! He was fairly surprised Miss Bennet hadn’t jumped at the chance to secure such a rich husband. In fact, he couldn’t imagine his Elizabeth being as indifferent to him as this woman seemed. That, coupled with the fact she hadn’t reacted at all when he said his name, was enough to make Darcy dismiss all his foolhardy hopes. 

What a cruel joke it was that the woman he loved and the one he lusted after shared the same name.

He resolved to only call this woman by her last name; he couldn’t bear to be reminded that she wasn’t his Soulmate. There was only one Elizabeth for him. This Elizabeth meant nothing. He would feel _nothing._

Yet... he couldn’t help the creeping feeling of guilt and envy that twisted inside him when he realized that because Miss Bennet was Inked, someone ELSE would be her Soulmate. Someone else would enjoy her smiles, and have the privilege of her love. Someone else would take her away. She would never be his.

Not.. not that he cared. Again, she was _nothing_ to him. He felt _nothing_ when she looked up at him through her eyelashes, a smile written in the creases of her fine eyes. She was gorgeous, but nothing... she was surely less handsome than his Elizabeth would be. It didn’t matter than he couldn’t imagine that; Elizabeth had to be the most beautiful woman he would ever meet. She had to be. So he shouldn’t feel disappointed. Or guilty. He should just enjoy being happy. _Why wasn’t he happy?_ Darcy sighed.

“Are you alright, Mr. Darcy?”

He started. To be truthful, he had forgotten she was there. Which was starge, because she had been the sole subject of his thoughts the entire interlude.

“Ahm, yes. Perfect..perfectly well,” he stammered, clearing his throat. He all but squirmed under her penetrating gaze. Her distractingly pink lips quirked upwards into a smile.

“Do you wish to tell me what you are ‘perfectly well’ about?”

“Are you always this impertinent?” Darcy asked with a glare that she didn’t seem to notice.

“Only when I wish to be.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, why do you wish to be so now, Miss Bennet?”

“I will answer, only if you acquiesce to being just as impertinent as I,” she said with a cheeky grin.

He smiled down at her, and her eyes widened at the sight. He quickly fought down the expression. He **hated** his dimples. 

“Fine,” he said after a while, not looking at her, “why do you wish to be impertinent now?”

“I find it proves to be accurate in surmising those I wish to form acquaintances with. I simply wanted to judge your character, sir.”

“And what have you found out?” He asked with real interest, though he tried to hide it.

“That you are very unaware of your surroundings.”

“What?”

“...we have reached my sister’s door, sir.”

“Oh!” Darcy said, realizing for the first time that they were not only indoors, but indeed on the second floor hallway of Netherfield. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed anything but her.

She removed her hand from his arm (of which he immediately felt the loss), and stepped to the door frame. Miss Bennet looked back at him; there was something in her eyes he couldn’t place. Something he had never seen before, yet felt more familiar than anything he had ever known. Only a stray gleam hinted at her amusement, and Darcy noticed he was smiling again. Dear god, he probably looked like a lovesick fool! AND SHE WASN’T EVEN HIS SOULMATE FOR CHRIST’S SAKE GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF, DARCY!

He immediately bit down on the inside of his cheek, commanding his face to fall back into a neutral frown. He hadn’t had time to tell whether or not he had achieved his goal of a more appropriate expression, when Miss Bennet’s own grin appeared, cheeky and teasing.

“You really should smile more often, sir. Dimples are very becoming.”

He flushed deeply and wished he could sink into the floor. Before he could say anything, she smiled once more and it felt like the world stopped spinning. It felt like sunshine. It felt like sand underfoot, soothing your senses. It felt like Springtime and Mozart and thousands of lightning bugs in jars. Cascades of light and love intertwining in the crease of her smile. It felt like a breath of fresh air on a snowy February morning, full of frost and clarity so pure it stings your lungs.

Then she was gone, disappeared behind the door frame.

Darcy stood there a while. He smiled at the empty doorway. A weight on his chest felt like it had been lifted. His mind somewhere in Pemberley with a young woman on his arm, Mr. Darcy walked slowly backwards, not taking his eyes off the spot where saw her last, still smiling like a schoolboy.. and promptly fell down a flight of stairs. 


	17. An Encounter at the Foot of the Stairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very long chapter. And btw, if you thought last chapter was fluffy, HOO BOY. This one’s got it beat! I was going to write some mild angst, but sue me, I had a bad day and needed something to smile for. So, enjoy! Hope it makes you as happy as it made me :)

Elizabeth shut the door tightly and pressed her body against it, her heart pounding.  _ What was she doing? _

She was supposed to be indifferent! And there she was, smiling at him, complimenting him, blushing at his every remark as if she was a common schoolgirl! What was happening to her?

She leaned her head back against the door frame, and raised her eyes to the ceiling. She didn’t know why she felt like crying. She wasn’t sad. She wasn’t angry. Well, maybe she was a little upset, but she felt some feeling blossoming in her chest that felt like love.. so why wasn’t she happy?

Perhaps it was because she had just resolved not to fall in love with Mr. Darcy, and then she went and did it anyway. That was it. She loved him. And he would never know— indeed, he COULD never know. 

Because how would he react? What would he do when she confessed to knowing it was him previously? Would he apologize for his harsh words? Or would he stand by them instead of her, call her a lying country chit, and leave her heart on the floor after stomping on it. 

That was what she felt, Elizabeth realized. Fear. She was afraid. Afraid that her heart had been given away so quickly, to a man she had spoken barely a dozen words to out loud. Afraid of how she couldn’t seem to figure him out. He fluctuated between the kind, caring Fitzwilliam who blushed at compliments and argued over poetry, and the cold Mr. Darcy, who never looked at a woman but to see a blemish, and would surely break her heart in two if given half a chance.

Yet Elizabeth could not shake the image from her mind— the one of Fitzwilliam standing in the hallway, that adorable dimpled smile lighting up his face, his hair a mess and his dark eyes wide and childlike. 

She knew not what to think, now more than ever.

Putting her head in her hands, she groaned. Why was it that whenever he came around, all of these lists and reasons for not liking him flew out of her head as soon as he smiled! It was insufferable. It was infuriating. It was… She sighed. It was delightful.

What could she do, when her actions around him differed so from her thoughts when he was out of sight? Why, treat him as she would. Be indifferent when indifference was called for, and warm when it wasn’t. Isn’t that what Fitzwilliam had said? She couldn’t quite remember. But she did recall quite clearly that he had trusted her judgement, so why shouldn’t she do the same?

So it was that Elizabeth amended her resolve on how to treat her Soulmate from now on. She would treat him as the feeling struck her. If he was cold, she would be as well. If he was warm.. she would do the same. No more overthinking. She would act as she acted, do as she did.

She was startled out of her thoughts by a great thumping noise from down the hallway, sounding like a bookshelf had tipped over and all its contents had hit the ground in perfect succession. Except after every crash was a human noise of pain: faint cries and muffled swears following every beat.

Elizabeth ran out into the hallway to discover the cause of the noise, and found Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley and procurer of 10,000 pounds a year... in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

She laughed to herself as she rushed down the stairs, picking up the muddied hem of her dress as not to soil the carpet on her way. Darcy glared at her as haughtily as one can when they are laying spread eagle on a staircase.

“I’m glad I can amuse you, Miss Bennet,” he croaked, his face looking like a thundercloud as she reached him.

“I apologize Mr. Darcy, you just..,” she succumbed to giggles once more, “you.. you look like a baby sparrow that just fell out of a tree!”

She laughed into her hand, her eyes crinkled shut and brimming with tears of mirth. Mr. Darcy huffed, though his lips curled up into an almost-smile. He tried to sit up, but winced. 

“One with a broken wing perhaps,” he groaned, shifting his weight around, but not making another attempt to rise.

“Oh dear!” Elizabeth cried, her laughter fading when she noticed his discomfort. “Are you alright?”

“Please do not trouble yourse—” he stopped abruptly when she knelt down and lifted his head into her lap. She looked down at him with a look of great concern, and turned his face from side to side, examining him for injury.

Elizabeth clucked her tongue. “You really should be more careful, sir,” said she, “I would not wish you to injure yourself so soon into our acquaintance?”

“You would rather me succumb to injury after a week or two then, Miss?” He asked dazedly, lost in her green eyes.

She laughed again, a light tinkling sound, and patted his cheek softly. “No no, sir. Only after a month will I permit any sort of harm to come to you. I will not tolerate it! You sir, are on probation until further notice.”

As she looked down at him, her eyes minty and twinkling, it dawned on Darcy the impropriety of the situation. He was laying down in a most unusual manner, with his head in an unmarried woman’s lap! He flushed a deep shade of pink, and attempted once more to lift himself, but then Miss Elizabeth was toying with the curly hair by his temples, lightly running her fingers along his jawline absentmindedly. 

She smiled down at him as she gently caressed his face, and Darcy was sure he had died and gone to heaven.

“My sister used to do this when I was hurt,” she said softly, smilingly.

“Mmm, your sister is a saint then,” Mr. Darcy mumbled into his collar, letting his eyes fall shut to enjoy the sensation. She laughed again, and his mouth curved upwards once more. For the first time, he hoped his dimples were showing.

“Yes, Jane is an angel to the infirmed,” Miss Elizabeth said.

“Angel,” Darcy repeated in a whisper.

He laid perfectly still and melted into her lap as she continued to softly massage his cheeks and neck. Darcy had never realized how starved he was for physical contact until he felt her touch. It was intimate and kind, soft and tender. It was everything he had ever wanted. Anything he had ever needed. For the first time in months, Darcy relaxed, and finally allowed himself to feel pleasure roll over his body, coating his mind in a sticky fluff of contented thoughts. He just laid there awhile, and didn’t worry about a thing.

Until he heard footsteps, that is.

Upon hearing the heavy footfalls approaching, Darcy nearly leapt out of his skin. Elizabeth hurriedly pulled him up, and they stepped apart just as an out-of-breath footman appeared at the top of the stairs. 

“Is everythin’ alright? D’ya need help?” The young man (well, boy, really) yelled down, his face even more flushed than the couple at the foot of the stairs.

Darcy, in the heat of the moment, was about to reprimand the footman for raising his voice at his superiors, when he felt Miss Elizabeth’s hand on his arm. All coherent thoughts immediately flew from his head.

“Yes, we’re fine, thank you!” She called back up kindly, “I simply lost my footing! Mr. Darcy was making sure I was well.”

The footman’s face was unreadable from this distance, but Darcy thought he saw a nod before the adolescent made a hasty retreat.

“The poor boy was just panicked,” she explained before his asking, as if reading his thoughts, “He meant nothing by his volume. He was simply distressed about our well being.”

Darcy nodded, idly wondering how someone he had not even known for two days could have guessed his thoughts so exactly. “I understand.”

“And, although I.. take you to be a very... honest man—”

“To be sure.”

“To be SURE. But I thought it might be a little..  _ unconventional _ if I related who between us was the savior and who was the saved.”

“You are my savior, then, Miss Elizabeth?”

“I suppose I am.”

“Lucky me,” he said, without a trace of sarcasm in his steady gaze.

Elizabeth made no answer, nor did he expect her to. She just smiled slightly, her head tilted sideways, before turning and heading back up the stairs. 

Without thinking, he called out to her.

“WAIT!”

She turned, looking at him archly, her eyebrows creeping towards her chestnut hairline. He gulped, and tried not to think about how this must be the eight time in the last half hour he had blushed under her lovely gaze.

“I, uh—,” Darcy sputtered, feeling fourteen years old again. Her eyebrows climbed higher, and the corners of her mouth twitched. “Thank you,” he managed.

Belatedly, he bowed. She bobbed a curtsy in return, her small grin peeking out unabashedly from behind a feigned air of politeness. 

“My pleasure, Fit—”

Now it was her turn to stop herself and turn the color of strawberries. Darcy stared at her, wondering just what was going through her head in that moment.

“Um, sir, it was no trouble at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

With that, she turned and practically fled up the stairs. Darcy was left with a sense of quiet elation, along with a great unfilled anticipation, greater foreboding, and, greatest of all, a sense that he may not feel _nothing_ for Miss Elizabeth, after all. 


	18. Conversations, if you Could call them That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Longish chapter. Pretty much just E&D fluff cause y’all already KNOW I’m loving that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY Y’ALL, I’m so sorry for not posting earlier today!! I got swamped with work, and just didn’t have time :( I’m gonna try and make it up by posting another chapter tonight— maybe even 2 more if I’m super ambitious! I’ll try and be more consistent. Anyway, hope yall like the fluff, it was fun to write :)

Elizabeth, her mind whirling and her face scarlet, rushed up the stairs and pushed through the door. She immediately closed and leaned against the frame, heart pulse thankfully drowning out the cacophony of thoughts.

“Lizzy?” A voice croaked from the bed. “Are you.. alrihh.. alrighht?”

Elizabeth chuckled. “I should be the one asking that, my dear Jane.”

Jane tried for a smile, but it was weak. Her normally glowing skin was pale and sallow, shimmering with beads of sweat. Lizzy immediately felt a pang of guilt for not remembering her original purpose in coming to Netherfield.

“I must apologize, I have been neglecting you,” she said, fetching a cool washcloth and bathing her sister’s forehead.

“NoNono…,” Jane moaned, her cornflower eyes shut to savor the cold water, “You have not… have not bee.. been neglecting me. Just you being here is pr.. proof of that.”

Lizzy wanted to argue, but she didn’t. She just smiled and continued to tend to her sister, her mind circling back to a certain gentleman on the stairs. She remembered how forward she had been with him. She had been treating Fitzwilliam as if he were her Soulmate.. which… he was, but he didn’t know it yet! OH, it must have been so confusing for him; Elizabeth, for a moment, was sure she could never show her face again. Then she remembered that he hadn’t seemed to mind. Quite the contrary, actually. It made her wonder what else he would like… She blushed ferociously and looked down.

Jane cleared her throat and roused Elizabeth from her thoughts. “Ahh.. ahhre you SURE you’re alrihh.. alright? You seem.. dis.. distracted..?”

“I suppose I am,” Elizabeth smiled.

“Wh.. whu..,” Jane murmured, her eyebrows dipping downwards in her discomfort. 

“Shh. Sleep. I’ll tell you later.”

Elizabeth continued to wash and cool her sister, making sure she was well and comfortable before (a few hours later) kissing her on her overheated forehead and taking her leave. She made her way down the stairs, and found the Netherfield party situated in a drawing room. It was uncomfortably silent, as if they had just finished a conversation rather abruptly. 

Darcy and Mr. Bingley stood and bowed. Elizabeth curtsied prettily. She was immeasurably glad she had had the foresight to change into less soiled clothes earlier. 

  
“Miss Elizabeth!” Bingley exclaimed, “How is your sister? Is she any better?”

  
“I wish I could say so, Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth said. 

The affable man’s face fell considerably. He looked right miserable then. Elizabeth felt mildly guilty at not having any good news to share. She let her gaze flick briefly to Fitzwilliam. His dark eyes were on her, and seemed to have no intention of moving anytime soon. Elizabeth colored slightly and looked away. She went back to Mr. Bingley, and caught his melancholic gaze. She smiled, hoping it would encourage him to do the same. 

“Well sir, one thing that I can say is that it will not do for you to call me ‘Miss’ anymore! You must either call me Elizabeth or Lizzy, as all my family does. We are to be siblings, after all.”

  
Mr. Bingley’s face lit up with the reminder of his upcoming nuptials. “Oh, oh thank you Mi—,” he caught himself. “Thank you, Elizabeth. And of course, you should call me Charles, as my own sisters do!”

  
She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind, Charles.” He grinned back at her, back to his normal delighted stance.

  
Caroline, situated in the corner with Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, rolled her eyes in and sighed quietly through her nose. She was none too happy about her brother’s Soulmate, but at least had the good sense not to say so to the woman’s sister. Bingley, on the other hand, was ecstatic with his Soulmate, proclaiming her to be the sweetest creature he ever laid eyes on. 

Mr. Darcy, still standing tall and taciturn in the middle of the room, bristled at the interaction before him, though he could not understand why. Why was it that hearing Bingley call the woman in front of them by her maiden name make his skin crawl? He understood why when she smiled at Bingley afterwards. 

That was  _ his  _ smile. The one she had given him on the stairs, with his head in her lap and her fingers intertwined in his rambunctious curls. The one that made him feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, made his head melt into a puddle and his words twist into incoherent stutterings on his tongue. That smile should be for  _ him  _ and  _ him  _ alone. 

Darcy had long since given on up on trying to be indifferent to Miss Elizabeth (and that including giving in and not referring to her as ‘that woman’ or ‘Miss Bennet’ or, in his more… private.. thoughts, ‘the Temptress’). He had come to the conclusion that he DID in fact have feelings for her, and whatever those feelings might be, they were natural and just. Even if she wasn’t his Soulmate, he could pretend, just for tonight. 

He soon realized he had been so lost in his thoughts a half hour had passed and Bingley and Miss Elizabeth were still in deep conversation about shallow topics. And he was still standing, immoble, in the middle of the room.

Darcy needed to say something to her, to win her smile and hopefully secure even a shadow of what he had felt earlier.

He took a step forward and inhaled as if to speak. Miss Elizabeth turned to face him and Darcy lost all thoughts. She seemed to have that effect on him. Vexing woman!

“I… I…,” Darcy said, sounding even to himself like a lovesick imbecile. “I, ahm, hope your family is in good health.” 

Right afterwards he realized this was, quite possibly, the worst thing to have said.

Bingley looked at him, his lips rolled inwards, trying (and failing) to hide his grin. Elizabeth glanced first at Bingley, then at him, and immediately her polite exterior was shattered and she dissolved into deliciously genuine laughter.

“Please tell me,” she said, holding her sides and hiccuping with giggles, “Please tell me you are not, in truth, ignorant of the answer!”

  
Darcy laughed at himself, and Bingley started. His friend looked at him with a shocked expression, but Mr. Darcy only had eyes for the lady.

“I apologize,” he chuckled, “I simply lost my train of thought, and knew not how to continue.”

“And I apologize for laughing,” she laughed, “But we seem to have a talent for unusual conversation, you and I.”

  
“Conversation?” Mr. Bingley asked, raising his eyebrows at Darcy, who reddened, and put back on his proper face. “With Darcy?”

  
Elizab—  _ MISS  _ Elizabeth’s brow crinkled. 

“Yes,” she said slowly, before picking up speed, “Mr. Darcy.. found me after I had a rather unfortunate mishap on the staircase. Our conversation then was much similar to this, in blithe animation.”

  
“Really?” Mr. Bingley asked with interest. “Care to explain, Mi— I mean,  _ Elizabeth?” _

“I care not,” she said with an arch smile, coaxing a grin from both gentlemen.

“Hold a minute, was this around 4 o’clock? Does this doesn’t have anything to do with your, uh, sudden neck pain, does it Darcy?”

  
Mr. Darcy wasn’t sure whether his face paled or redden, but thankfully, before he had to respond, the dinner bell sounded. Bingley shot him a “we’ll-talk-about-this-later” look, before announcing dinner to the rest of the party. 

  
Mr. Darcy, in a moment of surprisingly nimble thinking, offered Eliz— offered  _ MISS Elizabeth _ his arm to escort her to the dining room. She took it with a smile, and he felt the now familiar jolt of electricity as her hand rested in the crook of his elbow. He led her to the room, feeling as though he were floating. Little did he know, the lady on his arm felt exactly the same way.


	19. Pleasant Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another fairly long chapter. Darcy’s view of dinner and a sudden realization afterwards. (Featuring: tipsy Bingley) Fun and introspection and witty remarks. Let’s get down final climax. We got this. ;)

Dinner was a pleasant affair, Darcy thought. He had Bingley to his right and Elizabeth to his left. Caroline Bingley was in front of him, but that was of no matter. 

(Darcy had pulled aside one of the maids to [kindly] ask her to make the table’s centerpiece a bit larger, for his own reasons. The wisteria and pine cones looked lovely, and only the tallest feather in Miss Bingley’s hair could be seen by the [rather smug now] gentleman)

Miss Elizabeth talked freely and of anything from politics to poetry, and Darcy found himself genuinely interested in her opinions. Her outspokenness and steadfast opinions reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t remember who.

Bingley chatted affably, though his good-humor waned slightly whenever Miss Jane Bennet was mentioned. Elizabeth would notice this and say something comforting to him, about how resilient Jane was, or how quickly she normally recovered from illnesses. Darcy liked that about her. He liked how emotionally I tuned she was with the entire room.

At one point in the dinner, she laughed and her hand fell onto Darcy’s arm. That may or may not have been one of the highlights for him. He smiled more that night than he could ever remember having before.

Afterwards, they retired to the parlor and talked of composers and the qualities necessary in a Soulmate. Miss Bingley tried to say some nonsense about their air and manner of walking, but she was politely ignored by those ACTUALLY Inked. Bingley stated something about how all Soulmates had different qualities, depending on who they were, yet all were accomplished in their task. Darcy was particularly interested in Miss Elizabeth’s response to this.

“I believe  _ every _ Soulmate should be good and kind,” she said after some thought, “and whose demeanor pays compliment to the other’s personality.”

At this, Darcy remarked that Miss Elizabeth’s opinion and her  _ own _ character was a fine one indeed (simply to make a joke about complimenting her personality), and nearly swallowed his tongue when he realized the implications. Nobody in the room seemed to notice, thank God, except for her. She gave the hint of a grin, and her green eyes turned emerald as they caught the light.

“And one should also be able to forgive their Soulmate,” she added, her words weighted with implication as she (pointedly) looked everywhere but Mr. Darcy, “For a slip of the tongue.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur for Darcy. His mind was stuck on her words, her sly looks, her warm touch and heavenly grace. He was utterly enthralled by every little thing she did. Every way she moved, every way she spoke. The way her chestnut curls that escaped from behind her ears and turned gold at the tips, the way she would smooth out the folds of her dress when she got nervous, the way her the left side of her smile showed more teeth than the right. He loved each and every one of her glorious imperfections.

Oh dear god. He was falling in love.

This realization struck him after she had taken her leave of the party (Miss Bingley and the Hursts following shortly afterward, though Darcy barely noticed), and it was just him and Bingley in the parlor, each nursing a glass of brandy.

He was falling in love with another woman. Someone who wasn’t his Soulmate. Oh hell, he hadn’t even THOUGHT about HIS Elizabeth all day! She must be worried sick about him! What was he to do?! He couldn’t be in love with someone else— he was Inked for God’s sake! How would he— What would he— HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

Darcy was so affected by the realization that he was falling for Elizabeth Bennet, he jumped in his seat, and spilled a few drops of liquor on the seat. Bingley looked up at him with a tilted head.

“Darcy, good man, what’s the matter?”

The good man ran his hands through his already messy curls and sank down into his seat. He put his head in his hands and groaned. 

“Nothing. It’s.. it’s nothing. Sudden headache, that’s all.”

Bingley nodded and covered his smile with the brandy as he took another sip. “Does it have anything to do with why your  _ neck _ became sore all of a sudden, this afternoon?”

Darcy glared at his friend. “No,” he said definitively.

“Good. Necking can be quite bad for you, what with your height. I wouldn’t want your health to fail you before my wedding.”

“No, I wouldn’t want that ei—,” Darcy stopped suddenly. “Wait, what do you mean ‘NECKING’?”

Bingley grinned at him. “Oh, pardon me. Is your neck still sore from  _ ‘conversing’ _ with Elizabeth on the stairs this afternoon?”

Darcy turned beat red and mumbled into his glass.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“We weren’t  _ necking,”  _ Darcy muttered with venom in his voice.

“Of course you weren’t,” Bingley said dismissively. “I am rather glad however, that Jane and I do not have the same height difference as you and Elizabeth. That would make for a _very_ _**unsatisfying** positions  _ for both parties.” 

The ginger waggled his eyebrows suggestively (he was probably already intoxicated, he was never one for hard liquor), and Darcy’s felt his face turn an even deeper shade of scarlet at the implication.

He spluttered, and made as if to rise from his seat. “How— How dare you! Elizabeth is a lady; how can you speak of her thus and call yourself a gentleman?!”

Bingley raised his hands in a placating gesture, his face looking rather guilty at his own impropriety. “Sorry Darce, I just thought that since we both have our Soulmates now, we can talk a little more—”

“You think she and I are Soulmates?”

Bingley blinked. “I mean, it’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s the only woman I’ve ever seen you with where you don’t look like you’re dying to crawl out of your own skin, and she genuinely seems to hold affection for you!”

“You _really_ think so?”

“Oh, I know so, mate. At parties and the like, by god, if a woman so much as touches your arm you look as if you’ve swallowed a bug, and then act like a sulky child for the rest of th—”

“Yes, Charles, thank you,” Mr. Darcy said, delicately removing the brandy bottle from Bingley’s reach. The ginger man waved an arm at him; half in thanks and half in curse. 

“I must tell her at once!” Darcy exclaimed, rising from his seat. His head was spinning with hope.  **Hope.** He hadn’t felt that in a long, long while.

“Yea! Tell your Soulmate you love her!” Bingley cried, raising his now empty glass in cheers.

“I will! I must!” Darcy said, taking long strides to the door, “I must tell her at once how I feel!”

“An’ I’ll tell my Soulmate the same,” Bingley said with a drunken laugh. “I shall tell her tha’ she’s going to be.. gonna be my wife! I’ll be a hushban. _Hushban._ Spouse. Whatever.”

Darcy chuckled and shook his head at his lightweighted friend. “You do that,” he said with a good-natured eye roll. Bingley saluted and nearly fell off the chair before rolling up his sleeve to message his Soulmate.

Had Darcy been in his right mind, he surely would have seen and stopped his friend from doing this. Had he been in a state of mind that exhibited impeccable foresight, he might have hogtied Bingley and stayed with him all night to make sure he didn’t cause any trouble. 

Because after Darcy left the room, the domino fell, the catalyst struck, and as he raced up the stairs to proclaim his undying love for Elizabeth Bennet, the pleasant affair of their relationship was poised to shatter. And all then Hell would break loose.


	20. the Art of Dropping Eaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sisterly laughter. Overheard inside jokes. Misunderstandings galore. Angst, angst, ANGST! Longish chapter, will have the next one up within the next 2 hours or so (hopefully!) I’M LOVING IT >:D

After Elizabeth took her leave of the party downstairs, she went up to Jane’s room. She needed someone to talk to.

Jane sat up as she entered the room. She smiled, and looked half-recovered already. “Lizzy! How are you?”

“Very well,” Lizzy smiled, “Very, very well indeed.”

“Pray tell, what are you very VERY well about?”

Elizabeth sat down on the foot of the bed and leaned forward.

“I have found my Soulmate,” she whispered.

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Who can it be?” Jane asked excitedly, scooting up to meet her sister halfway.

“You’ll never guess,” Elizaebth replied gleefully.

“Mr. Darcy?”

“ _It’s Mr. Darc—_ ” She stopped. “Wait, how did you know?”

Jane chuckled and shook her head at her younger sister. “Dear Lizzy, just from the way you talk of him, and look at him, and how your eyes glaze over so I know you’re thinking of him!”

Elizabeth had the decency to blush before laughing at her own transparency. “I suppose it is rather obvious, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Jane confirmed, “Have you come to an agreement yet?”

“He seems rather unresponsive to my hints; I am beginning to wonder whether or not he actually wishes to be my Soulmate!”

Jane clasped her sister’s obsidian fingers in her own navy ones, and looked deep into her eyes. “Lizzy— you mustn’t think that! Of course he loves you, and wishes to be with you!”

“I hope so,” Elizabeth sighed.

“You must tell him how you feel, Lizzy. Or at LEAST that you’re his Soulmate! Do not keep him in the dark forever; no good can come of that.”

“I know, I know,” Lizzy said, “I’ll tell him next morning, how about that. Until then, I’ll continue with my plan!”

“What plan?”

Elizabeth blushed. “Well.. I didn’t know how to act.. so I came up with a plan. I shall treat him as I do Fitzwilliam.”

“But he IS Fitzwilliam.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth laughed, “But I get to actually touch and talk with THIS Fitzwilliam! The plan is to enjoy it as much as I can, and only mirror his own actions. If he is indifferent, I will be as well. However, he has only been sweet and kind, so I have the pleasure to act the same!”

Jane smiled. “That is a good plan. But I would rather you still tell him soon!”

“Of course! That way we can have the possibility of a double wedding with you and Charles!”

Jane smiled sweetly at her, then looked down at her arm. “Oh! Speak of the devil and he doth appear!”

She watched the messy lines appear on her arm, unruly even for Bingley, and burst out laughing. 

“May I?” Elizabeth asked, eager to be in on the joke.

“Of course,” Jane said between giggles, moving her arm so that Elizabeth could see it. Bingley’s message read as follows.

> **“Jane my dear my darling my lily rose. You are the most beeuteaful creature I have ever sawn. You will marry me. Marry me, Jane. Please marry me. Lizzy likes me, so we can get married. She may like me too much. You may get jellious, she and I are good firends now. She was blushing and flirting downstairs, so now I am a good firend. I hope she wasn’t flirting though. I only love you, Janeyanyeny. You are soooooo perfect, my love. I love you. Marry me.”**

Elizabeth choked on her tongue and rolled onto the bed in a fit of laughter. “WHat,” she exclaimed, almost cackling, “WHAT was thAT?”

“Oh dear,” Jane giggled, pressing her hand to her mouth, “I do believe my Soulmate thinks you’re making advances!”

“And _I_ believe your Soulmate must be fond of wine on special occasions.”

“Lizzy!”

“It was very diverting though, that your Soulmate is acting like a—”

This was the point in the night where everything went wrong. This is when Darcy had finished bounding up the stairs and was poised to knock on the door to proclaim his love for Elizabeth. This is when he heard laughter and voices inside, and, unable to resist, stepped closer to the door to listen. Just so that he might be able to gage the mood of his love. This is the exact moment, where everything went wrong. Elizabeth finished her sentence.

“—drunken fool downstairs!”

Darcy heard Jane’s voice answer her, though he could not specify the tone. “Dear Lizzy, don’t say that!”

“But I mean it! Gentleman indeed! Does he really think our conversation and brief physical contact counted as FLIRTING? Honestly!”

A laugh. “Well, you must have come on to him rather strong.”

“Or he ingested something rather strong, more like.”

Laughter again. Darcy stood paralyzed at the door. Was… was she talking about _him?_ Calling him a drunken fool? Dismissing their intimate conversation as.. as _nothing?_

“Oh,” Jane’s voice said, “Wait until Mama hears of this! I can just imagine it!”

“Papa will surely scold me for ‘toying with the man’s affections’ and Mama will say I am a clever girl for catching a gentleman as rich as him!”

Darcy’s heart stopped. No. This.. this couldn’t be. Was she…? Did she actually think…? He kept listening.

“But I believe he is already caught.”

“Yes, he is head over heels with a _very_ lovely Inked woman,” a pause in which Darcy thought he heard giggling.

“And I would not change that for the world,” Elizabeth’s voice continued, “For even if my own Soulmate never realizes, at least our family won’t stARVE IN THE HEDGEROWS!”

This last phrase was said in a loud, screeching tone (an impression of some kind?) and was succeeded by another round of girlish laughter. Darcy’s heart felt like it was trapped in an iron glove. Was she really just after his money?

“You do like him though… don’t you?” Jane’s voice asked in an anxious tone.

“Of course! As Mama would say, who couldn’t with that income!” Her voice sobered a bit. “But yes, I do like him. He seems a perfect addition to our neighborhood.”

“And he is rather kind, don’t you think?”

“Very much so. Not my.. ideal man though. MY Soulmate is more.. complex than that. Though, dear Jane, he is still sweet, he would be so much more amiable if he wasn’t so…”

“..unresponsive?”

“Yes, exactly. But you’re right, I’ll continue with my plan, and talk of Soulmates afterward.”

“Just don’t wait too long, Lizzy.”

“I won’t, I won’t! Hopefully— if all goes according to plan— I’ll be married before the month is out!”

Darcy pulled away from the door. He felt sick. The woman he had fallen in love with was nothing more than a tease, out to get his money. He wondered what ‘the plan’ was. Plan to trap him? Plan to make him propose by seducing him? He shuddered, though he felt like sobbing. This is what he got, what he deserved, for loving anyone other than his Soulmate. She had almost convinced him too! _Lying country chit._

His heart ached. He vowed right then, to never, EVER fall in love with another woman as long as he lived. They were nothing but conniving, mercenary heartbreakers, the lot of them! 

The door opened and suddenly he was face to face with the conniving mercenary who had broken his heart. And by God, he was going to make her pay.


	21. Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Elizabeth’s fears, anger, and insecurities come to a head. How much damage can one mistake do? Semi-short chapter, will have the next one up soon!  
> ANGST ANGST ANGST!! AAAAAAHHHAAAA HHH SO MUCH ANGST

Elizabeth walked out of the room, stopping herself before she bumped into the very man she had been going to see. 

“Oh! Mr. Darcy!” She exclaimed with a grin, dropping into a brief curtsy after closing Jane’s door behind her.

“Miss Bennet,” he acknowledged, his voice cold and his dark eyes glaring. 

Elizabeth looked up at him and tilted her head. “Are you alright, sir? Has something upset you?”

“You could say that.” His voice was dangerously low and calm; Elizabeth was instantly nervous, though she did not understand why.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“...as a matter of fact, there is. Will you tell me, Miss Bennet, why it amuses you to toy with a man’s affections, an INKED man’s affections, for the sole purpose of trapping him in an ill-fated monetary marriage? Are you so heartless?”

Her eyes widened in the subsequent silence, and his heart broke a little more. So it was true. She really had played him for a fool.

“Did you honestly think I would fall for all your arts and allurements,” he spat out, “when your station in life— not to mention your mannerisms— is so DECIDEDLY below my own?”

Again she said nothing. Elizabeth just stood there, frozen and immobile, her green eyes as wide as saucers. Darcy continued angrily, picking up steam.

“For God’s sake, madam! You are Inked! You of all people should not try to force someone into matrimony, especially if they hold no regard for the person whatsoever.”

Her face was crumbling, her luscious lips trembling and those emerald eyes shining with liquid pain, but Darcy couldn’t bring himself to care. She didn’t deserve to feel pain. HE was the victim here! With a growl, he leaned forward and delivered the final cutting blow.

“I _pity_ your Soulmate. Did you honestly think  _ you _ could tempt _ME_ _? _ I know **I for one** could not stand and be tied to some LYING COUNTRY CHIT like you.”

A spark of feeling, a slapping sound, stinging pain in his cheek, and Darcy was bent over, dazed and clutching his face where the Temptress had struck him. Shocked, he looked on as her fine eyes, now dark and hostile and brimming with tears, glared at him with unabashed hatred. 

**_“Never speak to me again,”_** she choked out spitefully. 

“ _With pleasure,_ ” Darcy hissed back.

He nursed his cheek as she turned and hurried down the hallway. He tried not to notice the tears streaming down her face as she ran by. He tried not to care that he had hurt her. He tried.

Feeling numb with unwanted guilt and undeserved heartbreak, Darcy walked down the hall and found his room. Once inside, he locked the door and allowed himself to weep quietly for a few minutes. Then Darcy pinched his neck repeatedly, reminding himself that he was a man and that men do not cry over heartless women. It didn’t help. He was heartbroken.

His chest ached with every breath, his heartbeat pounding in his ears and drowning out his thoughts. The Ink on his fingers felt like it was so hot it was scorching him to the bone.

That was what he would do! He would reach out to HIS Elizabeth, the only one he could trust, and be comforted by her unwavering love. She would understand. She would help him forget about Miss Bennet.  _ Elizabeth _ would never hurt him as she had. With a watery smile, he pulled up his sleeve to write to his one true love.

> _ “Elizabeth,”  _ he wrote,  _ “my love, I am so ashamed to admit I have been neglecting you. I miss you dearly, and want you to know I am yours for whatever conversation you would wish. Plato, perhaps? Nothing we differentiate on too harshly though; I am feeling rather... raw, right now, and would never wish to harm your opinion of me, as I think so highly of you.” _
> 
> After a while, he tried again.  _ “Hello? My love, are you there?” _

The response was short.

> **“I told you never to speak to me again.”**

Darcy’s blood ran cold. He stared, uncomprehending, at the words on his arm.

> _ “What? Elizabeth?” _
> 
> **“** **_Never again._ ** **You have insulted me in every possible way, and can now have nothing further to say. So this is goodbye. God bless you, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”**
> 
> _ “ELIZABETH— NO WAIT—” _

But no matter how hard he tried, what words he wrote, he received no reply. She was gone, gone forever. In one night, Mr. Darcy had lost both the women (now known to be one in the same) had loved. In one night, he found himself to be completely alone in the world for the first time in his life. In one night, Fitzwilliam Darcy made a mistake that would ruin his life.


	22. Pain and Heartbreak in the Raging Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Elizabeth’s thoughts as she runs away from Netherfield. Disaster strikes, yet somehow hurts less than Fitzwilliam’s hateful words.   
> I’LL POST AGAIN SOON I PROMISE I WON’T LEAVE Y’ALL HANGING AGAIN

The storm, the one that had been brewing since Mr. Bingley’s party had arrived at Netherfield, was finally upon her. The wind howled and swirled around Elizabeth’s feet, her skirts whipping around her legs like begraddled flags of a retreating army, as she ran blindly through the fields. 

She didn’t know where she was going. All she knew was that she had to get AWAY. 

Elizabeth had, much to her shame, started crying before she even got out of his sight. She had raced down the hallway and hid around a corner when she heard a door slam. That was when she had seen his message on her arm.  _ Fitzwilliam’s. _

Just thinking his name was enough to make her choke back a sob. 

What had happened? When she had opened the door to find Mr. Darcy on the other side, she had been overjoyed! It meant she had another chance to speak with him, to enjoy his smiles, and to bask in his kind graces and witty conversation. 

Instead, he had treated her as she always feared he would: a good-for-nothing failure, whom he despised with all of his soul. His words had cut apart her insecurities like jagged knives, tearing at her self-esteem and fleshing out her sanity.

When the words of love and trust had appeared on her arm only a short time later, it was salt in an open wound. At least she had been given the chance to say goodbye.

_ Goodbye.  _ Farewell to her Soulmate, farewell to her love, her family, her friends, farewell to the life she had led before. Because indeed, Elizabeth did not know whether she wanted to start over. After a taste of pure happiness, could she go back to the bitter life of abject solitude she had led before?

She didn’t know. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. She just kept running. Through the night, through the storm. Through the wind that tore at her clothes and the rain that beat at her tears. She ran through the pain and the fear and the anguish and followed the night until she could no longer see the lights of Netherfield behind her.

Elizabeth yelled over the cacophony of the wind. “WHY ME?! WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS PAIN?!” The wind howled back, but made no answer. 

“Why am I not enough?” She whispered to herself, hugging her sides. At this, and how the storm seemed to pause and leave her an answer in the silence, Elizabeth broke down and cried. 

She fell to her knees and wept, not caring about the dirt and the rain and the storm all around her. She grieved for the loss of the feeling she never knew she wanted. Love.

A great crash, a snapping noise, sounded a little ways behind her, and the wind brought the object hurtling towards Elizabeth at a rapid speed. It collided with her head, a thick, meaty crunch cutting through the storm with a lightning strike of pain. 

She was on the ground. Her body was bent under her. Her face was buried in her arm. Adrenaline pulsed through her, pumping her full of awareness before she succumbed to the pain. 

Something had been picked up from the wind and hit her. She was hurt. Red leaked into one eye. The pain was clawing at her vision, tearing it to shreds. Someone was screaming, and Elizabeth supposed it was her. No one would hear her over the storm. She needed help. 

With the last of her strength, she focused all surfaces of her body that were touching on another, the leg that was folded under her torso, the hand that rested on her spine, her face pressed against her forearm, and willed the skin on skin to darkened with the Ink she swore she’d never use again.

As she faded to blackness as the red seeped into her vision, Elizabeth allowed herself to hope that he would still come. That he didn’t hate her enough to leave her to die.

The storm around her raged on, uncaring of the broken body in its wake, and the man that was currently running through the rain to her rescue.


	23. Around and Around and Around We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK so this chapter is somewhere between angst and hurt/comfort. Its fairly long, and (from my POV at least) pretty darn good. Darcy searching for Elizabeth in the storm. Thoughts and fears collide and mold with reality. enjoy  
> (I may post the next one tonight, but if not expect it in the morning!)

Previously, the worst night of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s life had been the night his mother died. 

He had been maybe fifteen years old when his mother had fallen ill and never gotten better. He would always remember the smell of incense at the funeral, the smoke making it easy to pretend his eyes were just smarting from heat. Georgiana clutching his pant leg tightly. Faceless mourners shuffling past. Wickham’s absence. A black waistcoat that felt too heavy on his shoulders. A deceivingly warm sun. His father’s glazed eyes with their heavy circles under them. Sleepless nights and restless days.

Darcy’s father had retreated into himself after the funeral. The last words he had told his only son before he had gone into deep mourning were as follows.

“Today is a marker in our lives. There will be a before and an after. We are living in the After of your mother. Savor the sweeter times of life, Fitzwilliam. You don’t know you’re in the Before until the After is thrust upon you. I wish I had known to enjoy the Before. Don’t make the same mistake.”

Darcy’s father had gotten very quiet after his wife’s death, and when he did speak it was philosophical and melancholy. Darcy had never understood his father’s grief before. Now he was in the After of Elizabeth, and he understood perfectly.

He wandered through the halls at Netherfield, feeling like a phantom in the fading twilight. Everyone had either retreated to their rooms or were somewhere else in the house. It felt empty to Darcy. He kept calling Elizabeth’s name as loudly as he dared. He needed to find her, to apologize, to make right the wrongs he had done that night.

He thought he could hear her voice in his head, whispering to him, her tone full of sorrow and disappointment.  _ It’s too late, Fitzwilliam. I’m never coming back. You had your chance, and now I’m gone. You’ll never see me again. _

A tear escaped down his nose and he brushed it away. He didn’t have time to grieve. He needed to fix this. She had been his Soulmate all along, and he had basically cast her aside as if she were a cur in the street. How could she ever forgive him for that?

Darcy must have misheard the conversation in Miss Bennet’s room. She wasn’t planning to trap him. Oh, why had he been so eager to believe the worst of her?  _ And now she was gone, gone forever. _

He could still find her, and explain himself. He needed to throw himself on her mercy, grovel at her feet for being the worst excuse for a Soulmate he had ever known. But where was she? He had now paced all over Netherfield at least twice, and had yet to find her. 

Was she in her room? No, the door had been open and empty. Not that Darcy had peeked into a lady’s room at twilight. That was totally out of the question. He had just… just observed, that’s all. But she hadn’t been there.  _ Where was she? _

Just then, an Inked message started forming on Darcy’s arm. A jolt of hope coursed through him, and he rolled his sleeve up so fast a button popped off. He didn’t notice. He was absorbed in watching what looked like an Ink stain formulate on his arm. It looked like a rounded blob, with sharp outlines and a few blank spots. 

Darcy turned his head and looked at it one way, then the other.  _ What? What did this mean?  _ There were no words, no message. Just a shape, vague and somehow very familiar to Darcy. He squinted at it. 

One of the blank spots looked.. almost like an eye. A darker line above it was almost an eyebrow, creased and dipping downwards. There was a slanted curve that resembled a nose, if you had a good imagination. Yet it couldn’t be a face— the lines around the edges were too long, too curved.. it was as if the jaw was unhinged…  _ in a scream. _

THAT was why he knew the shape! It was Elizabeth’s features, imprinted onto his arm at an unnatural angle and frozen in a silent scream! Darcy felt his stomach drop. Was she hurt? Was she dying? What could have caused her to scream like that, much less send him a message of it?

HE HAD TO FIND HER. RIGHT NOW. 

Where could she be? His pace (before, numb and ambling) now turned to an agitated jog as he ran through the house. Wait. If she was screaming like that, surely he would have heard it, had she been at Netherfield? 

Darcy listened, but all he heard was rain beating against the shingles above. He looked out a window. The rain was blowing at an angle, pummeling the glass in front of him. Lightning flickered in the distance. Darcy’s blood ran cold for the second time that night. 

Without another thought, he leapt over a banister (frightening a maid out of her wits and barely giving it a second thought) and raced out of the door into the pouring rain. Elizabeth needed him.

The icy droplets were a shock to the system, but Darcy hardly noticed. He ran through the downpour, wind blowing in his face, screaming her name as loudly as he could. He cupped his hands around his mouth, but still got no answer. 

For what felt like hours, he ran out into the storm, driven by lovesick panic and a fear that gripped his heart every time he didn’t get an answering cry. He needed to find her. He needed HER. Darcy wasn’t sure what’d he do without her, without her smiles, without her laughter, without her love in his life. The future was as bleak as the sky, rumbling with thunder and the looming threat of a loss he couldn’t bear. 

Finally, Darcy heard something. A faint cry in the distance, just barely detectable over the howling wind.

“ELIZABETH?!”

Silence. The storm rumbled around him.

Darcy ran to where he thought the sound had come from, and sure enough, in the distance, he saw a familiar figure laying in a heap on the ground. He sprinted towards it, his legs burning with the exertion.

He reached her body, choking on ice-cold rain as it slammed into his face, and he fell to his knees in front of her.

“Dear God, no!”

Wiping away his soaked curls from his face, he could see her clearly. Her body was folded unnaturally on itself, her face hidden underneath a bedraggled mess of chestnut hair, now mahogany with moisture. Sticky clumps of scarlet were visible underneath the dripping layers. A tree branch, as thick as Darcy’s arm, lay off to one side, the splintered end of it stained a violent red on the edges. 

Gingerly, Darcy rolled her over and onto his lap, as she had done for him only that afternoon. He bit back a sob as he saw the extent of the blood loss. He felt her lovely face. It was ice cold. _Too late,_ her voice whispered in his mind.

“No, no, no, please, no,” he whispered in shock. He put a hand to her neck. He couldn’t find a pulse. _I’m gone,_ her voice whispered. _And it’s all your fault._

“No please God,” Darcy whispered, choking on wind and rain and tears. “Please don’t.. don’t leave me here…”

Weeping, he pulled her into his arms and cradled her like a small child. “Please Elizabeth.. please come back to me… I- I need you to come back to me.. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry Elizabeth… Please.. I- I love you... don’t leave me.. so.. so sorry... I’m so sorry...”

As he cried, the rain began to lessen. The wind dropped and the clouds gave way to the empty night sky. Faint constellations swirled on the horizon. Far above the two Soulmates intertwined on the earth, a red giant star (often referred to by ancient astronomers as ‘Hubris’) winked out of existence. 

And as Mr. Darcy pressed his lips, wet and salty with the flow of tears, to his Soulamte’s brow, Elizabeth’s heart started beating again. And the world kept spinning. Around and around, and around.


	24. Back Again, to Find You Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> penultimate chapter, yall!! WOOO! Elizabeth comes back from the edge, to find him waiting for her. Love and talking. Comfort like y’all have never seen before :) ❤️ cuteness

Cold. Dark. Rain. Dropping down. Scarlet. Darkness. Fading, fading away. Empty pit inside herself. Why? Because. Unresponsive. Apathy. Never again. But she wanted it. Sinking. Immobile. Not fighting anymore. Falling, falling, falling. Surface. Submerged. Drifting. Lost. Alone. Slashing pain. Cold, cold, cold. Gone? Not yet.

Waiting. Tick tock, tick tock. Time. Lost. Glass. Cracking. Alive? No. Gone. Lost again. Light. Emptiness. Fog in the distance. Lighter. Floating. Bright. Nothingness. Disassembled. Puzzle pieces. Flatline. Limbo. Numbness. Gone, gone forever.

Not forever. A voice. A sound made for her. Fingertips. Saltwater. Movement. Warmth. Familiar. Safety. Curls and smoke. Raindrops. Pumping. Sobbing. Shaking. Fissures in the silence. Warm hands. Cold skin. Soft voice and quiet noise. Where?  _ Here. Him. _ Need him. Please need him. Love. Drawn back in. Light everywhere. Fading back. No. Not ready. Afraid. Please. Beckoning light. Numbness. No. Please. Not ready. Not yet.  _ Not without him! _

The world came back into focus. The blinding, brilliant nothingness that had briefly developed her was gone, and the world came back into focus. Her pulse started again, beginning in her obsidian fingertips. Elizabeth’s green eyes drifted open.

She looked up into Fitzwilliam’s face. He was crying. Weakly, she raised a hand to cup his cheek. His dark eyes, rimmed with red remnants of grief, flew open and stared into her own.

“Fitzwilliam,” she whispered, her voice rasping and weak.

His face broke into a disbelieving smile of pure joy, and tears began spilling out of his dark eyes. He embraced her, arms holding her tightly against him, his hand lost in her soggy curls. 

“You’re alive,” he cried, laughing through the tears, “You’re alive, you’re alive!”

“What.. what are you doing?” Elizabeth murmured, trying to squirm away, “You.. you shouldn’t be here..”

“But I did,” he whispered, not letting go. “I had to know you were alright.”

“I am,” she insisted meekly, “I don’t need you.”

Darcy pulled away, and looked into her face with sad eyes. How she had ever thought him aloof was beyond Elizabeth. His eyes reflected his sorrow a million times over in their dark, earthy flickering. 

“I know,” he said brokenly, “I know you don’t need me. But please understand, Elizabeth.  **I** need  **you.** ”

She stared at him, uncomprehending, and he looked down to avoid her eyes. His fingertips shifted on her shoulder. 

“I made a mistake. A.. fair number of them, actually.” Darcy looked as though he might laugh if he wasn’t so serious and sad. He continued, his gaze moving back to her face with a look she now registered as love, pure and unwavering.

“I know I’m not worthy of you, Elizabeth. But I want to be. By God, I want to be. I want to wake up next to, and prove to you every day that I am worthy of your time, of your affection. My life.. is nothing, without you. I love you, Elizabeth. Mind and soul. Please. Let me prove to you that I am worthy of your love. Let me prove it as your husband. I have.. I will… I love you. Most ardently. And I always will, no matter what. So please, forgive me of my sins, and consent to be my wife, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.”

He looked into her face with that look of pure adoration. She let out a breath. He held his.

“Fitzwilliam… I- I-... I don’t… know.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?”

“What to say!” Elizabeth cried, almost hysterically. “Or what just happened, or even why I’m bleeding! What do I do?”

“Say you’ll marry me,” Darcy said, pressing his forehead to her own and closing his eyes. They opened when she spoke again. 

“No.”

Darcy recoiled and his face went slack.  _ “No?!” _

“No, no! Not, ‘no’, but, ‘NO.. not now”.. I… I need to think.”

“I understand,” said Darcy, not understanding at all. She sighed, and seemed to snuggle closer to him.

“I don’t want you to marry me just because I’m your Soulmate,” Elizabeth whispered, a tear forming in the corner of her eye and sliding down her cheekbone, “You don’t love me. You don’t even like me.”

“Oh, my dear Elizabeth,” Darcy murmured, his voice breaking as he pulled her into another embrace. He held her, and felt her body shake with quiet, muffled sobs. “I DO love you. I have loved you, and I will ALWAYS love you. I was a fool. A fool in love, and trying desperately not to be. I wanted… I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” she whispered into his coat.

“I just wanted to do the right thing.”

“I know.”

“I’m so.. I’m so sorry.”

“I know that too.”

He pulled his head back to look at her. “Do.. does this mean.. ahm, do you… am I forgiven?”

“Not yet,” Elizabeth murmured softly.

“Alright,” he said quietly, a sharp pain cutting through his chest as he laid his cheek atop her wetted hair. For a short while they relapsed back into silence

“But I believe you will be, in time,” Elizabeth said, quietly, meaningfully.

“I will?” His voice was pure hope. Hers was soft and tender.

“Yes, Fitzwilliam, you will. I love you.”

Darcy’s dark eyes widened. He smiled, hesitantly at first, then fully, his dimples marking his ecstasy. “Thank you,” he managed to say.

His bride-to-be made no answer. She just held him tight, and smiled into his collar. Everything would be okay. The storm was gone, and the stars were out. Love wasn’t in the air, but it was in their hearts that night. They just laid there for a while, neither moving until at last the smaller one fell asleep, soft breath warming the other’s collar. The larger one, ever the gentleman, wrapped her in his coat, and carried her back to Netherfield. Smiling all the way.


	25. In the After of Love. Always and forever, Love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE FINAL CHAPTER. Twice as long as my usual ones, just to get in ALL THE FLUFF. The wedding and reminiscing along the way. Notes at the end

“Good God, man, and I thought _I_ was nervous!”

Darcy glared at his friend from under his eyelashes. His head was bent forward in concentration, retying his cravat for the sixth time.

“Seriously, Darce, you should have just left it the way the valet tied it this morning!”

“Will you be quiet?” He finally snapped. Bingley laughed.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just never had the opportunity to see you like this! I probably never will again.”

“Well, you only get married once.”

“Weeeell…”

“You only get married to your SOULMATE once.”

Bingley laughed again, and clapped Darcy on the shoulder. “I am so relieved to not be the most nervous one out of the grooms! I really must thank you— you’ve made me feel a lot better, Darcy.”

“Glad I could help,” he muttered bitterly.

Giving up on his cravat, Darcy collapsed into a chair in the parlor. Bingley rolled his eyes good-naturedly at his friend’s dramatics, but said nothing, lost in a daydream of his beautiful bride-to-be. Darcy’s thoughts were similarly engaged, but in a less romantic manner. He was remembering the weeks leading up to the wedding.

That being said, he could barely remember arriving back at Netherfield with Elizabeth in his arms. Bingley later told him he had looked positively wild, covered in dirt and blood and soaked to the skin, but he had been smiling despite it all. Miss Bingley had fainted at the sight of him, probably to get attention. He couldn’t recall. He had been focused on Elizabeth in his arms, her face nestled in his shoulder. 

She had been a vision that night, one not of a goddess pure and sweet, but of human spirit. Real and bloodied and triumphant in the fading storm. All the worry lines and creases from earlier had smoothed out, and she slept with an innocent expression of hope written on her lovely features. Darcy caught himself imagining what their future children would look like. He hoped they would have her eyes. He knew, from later conversations, that Elizabeth hoped they would have his.

Going against all standards and basic propriety, Darcy had carried his love up the stairs and to her room, only leaving when the maid informed him she would have a bath drawn. And even then he waited in the hall for her to be presentable. A doctor was sent for, and he examined Elizabeth thoroughly.

“It’s remarkable,” the doctor said to Darcy conversationally, “the wound wasn’t especially deep, but after losing that much blood as well as her consciousness… There was no telling how long she was without oxygen, what with the pouring rain and the nature of her fall. According to modern medicine, she shouldn’t have woken up at all.”

After seeing the effect this had on the man before him, the doctor hastily amended his statement, saying that although the injuries should have been fatal in the moment, as long as Elizabeth kept breathing and had the wound treated, she would make a full recovery.

Darcy had insisted on staying with her. At first, he was met with red-faced protests at the notion of a man staying in the same room as an unmarried woman all night, but after he relayed their status as Soulmates, he was allowed to stay. He slept in an oak chair by her bedside, waking up every half hour to check her breathing.

When she had woken up, just as the sun was cresting the horizon, instead of being confused or afraid, Elizabeth had smiled at him, and Darcy thought he would start crying all over again. She was perfect.

“Why are you looking at me so? Am I… am I bleeding again?”

“What?” Darcy had asked dazedly before recovering, “No! You.. you just… you’re beautiful.”

She had blushed prettily, and looked away. He sat forward and cleared his throat.

“Elizabeth… I- I’m so sorry. I caused you so much pain… I shouldn’t.. You must allow me to apologize for the things I said to you la—”

He was silenced when he felt her fingers press against his lips. He opened his eyes to find her leaning forward, watching him with a somehow calming expression of concern.

“Please. Don’t apologize right now. I mean.. I just…,” she took a trembling breath, and bit her lip. “I don’t want to think about it right now.”

Self-loathing twisted in Darcy’s stomach. How had he hurt her so? He looked away, berating himself. He wasn’t worthy of her forgiveness. He was everything he had always hated about himself, and more. Arrogant. Hateful. Cold, and disdainful, and oblivious to the feelings of others. He wasn’t good enough for Elizabeth. He should leave, spare her the pain of having to be around him, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. As much as he hated himself for it, he couldn’t leave her presence. She was everything to him.

She laid a hand on his, and his dark gaze snapped back to her.

“Don’t blame yourself.” She shot him a look, silencing his protest. “I can tell you were. We both made mistakes, Fitzwilliam. But.. those can be dealt with tomorrow. Now, I just want to be with you.”

He swallowed his doubts, and nodded. Then he looked down at their hands, intertwined and faintly glowing with a magical dark energy, and sucked in a breath.

“Y-you—”

“Yes, Fitzwilliam. I bonded us. I may not be ready to talk, but I am ready to be your wife. I am.. finally ready.. to be loved.”

He must have been smiling, because she laughed, leaned forward, and lightly kissed both of his dimples. “I love you, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth whispered, her voice soft and tender in his ears.

Darcy thought he would never get tired of hearing those words. His smile pushed at his eyes, squinting them shut. Elizabeth’s words had them opening again, wide as saucers.

“Come.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

“Come here, my love.” She retracted her hand from his, and raised the covers invitingly. “I want you by me.”

Darcy swallowed again. His mouth felt too dry. “I don’t think it is prudent—”

“I am injured, you are comforting me. We can keep a blanket between us, if you wish.”

“But- your reputation..,” Darcy protested weakly, his eyes on the spot in the bed next to his.

“..will survive my Soulmate and future husband holding me for an hour or two. Servants will knock before they enter, or else Charles, or Jane (if she is recovered). No one shall gossip, and if they do, they will be dismissed by the wedding.”

“I don’t know…”

“Please?”

Darcy’s resolve crumbled under her sweet, innocent gaze, and he sighed. “Just for a little while.”

She had smiled at him (the smile that made him feel like a melting candlestick) and scooted over to give him room. He carefully eased into bed beside her, leaving plenty of room between them, hoping to preserve a shred of decency in the moment. Elizabeth destroyed this hope most pleasantly when she moved over into his arms with a happy sigh. She snuggled into him like a small child, her head tucked into his neck, her dark fingers playing with the buttons on his coat. 

The last of Darcy’s restraint fell away, and he wrapped his arms around her. He could feel her stiffen slightly, but was too intoxicated by the closeness to pay much heed. He tried to kiss the top of her forehead, and was surprised to meet her lips instead.

He pulled away quickly, scarlet and stammering his apologies, feeling like a cad, when she pulled his face into hers, and he melted into the kiss. 

Elizabeth tasted sweeter than he could have ever imagined. Her lips were smooth and silky, the taste of milk and honeysuckle mingling with the sweet scent of peppermint on her breath. He kissed her until he couldn’t breathe, kissed her until he could feel himself beginning to overstep and his excitement began to manifest physically. 

He quickly eased out of the passionate kisses, and was pleased to hear Elizabeth whine in protest. He pressed his lips to her nose, her eyelids, her hair, until she was settled back against him, and her breathing slowed. Eventually, he did as well, and he drifted off to sleep with a lovesick smile fixed on his face.

It had been quite a shock for poor Bingley to find them, and even worse when he had laughed so loudly it must have woken the whole household. 

Throughout the whole courting process, Bingley had been constantly amused by the change in his normally taciturn friend. When he had tried to obtain Mr. Bennet’s permission, who had laughed and said if they were bonded their was really no point in Darcy’s asking and was he thick in the skull? because no bachelor would have waited so long to procure his Lizzy, Bingley had been in fits of laughter the entire time. 

It was even worse when Darcy tried to bring Elizabeth an expensive bouquet of flowers, and ended up giving her a mild allergic reaction (a violent-looking rash all over her pretty arms and neck). He was sure he would NEVER hear the end of that one, from either Bingley or his bride.

Finally though, after three weeks of quiet walks and loud congratulations, the wedding day was finally upon them. Bingley and Darcy had decided to make it a double wedding, as a show of friendship. Jane and Elizabeth had heartily agreed. 

Elizabeth’s uncle, a Mr. Gardiner (a sensible gentleman, whom Darcy liked immensely), poked his head in the room and gave the two eager men a nod. It was time.

A few minutes later, Darcy stood at the altar, sweating in his suit. Bingley stood beside him, fidgeting and glancing around the room. After what seemed like an entirety of bridesmaids and overly long passages read by the pastor, the music changed, and the grooms both straightened their backs and looked down the aisle.

When Jane emerged, Bingley’s smile could not be contained. He was sure she was the most gorgeous creature he had ever seen; smiling as wide as he had ever seen her, a blush heightened her coloring most remarkably, and her golden hair hung in tresses down her back. 

On his side however, Mr. Darcy forgot how to breathe.

She was perfect. There were no words to describe it. She was perfect, and she was his. Darcy how he had ever lived his life not loving her, body and soul. He knew he would never do that again.

The ceremony passed them by with dreamlike speed after that. Darcy barely remembered saying “I do”; he was too focused on the fact that halfway through, Elizabeth had been forward enough to take his hand in hers. He squeezed it, hoping to convey how much he loved her, how he would always love her, that he would never leave her side again. She squeezed back.

Afterwards, in the carriage heading to London, a dazed Mr. Darcy was subject to his wife’s teasing laugh for the very first time.

“Dear husband, did you _really_ not see my message?”

“No, indeed I did not,” he replied, smiling indulgently, “Pray tell, what did it contain?”

Elizabeth pursued her round lips that he could now kiss at his leisure, suppressing a smile. Darcy’s pulse quickened as Elizabeth undid the first few buttons on her dress, and pulled back the fabric.

However, ever the innocent, Elizabeth stopped just below her collarbone and drew a circle around a little Inked heart on the nape of her neck. Darcy laughed, and moved forward, giving the drawing an adoring kiss. Then another. And another.

“What,” he said, smiling into her soft skin, “possessed you, my dear,” another long kiss, during which he was pleased to her sigh with pleasure, “to send me such,” kiss, “a message?”

“Well,” Elizabeth responded, pulled his head up and nuzzling into his neck, her hands entwining in his dark, messy curls, “It IS rather hard to put lovein writing, you know.”

Darcy laughed again, and kissed his wife soundly, wondering if being with her would always make him so completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy. As he would find out slowly over the years, falling in love with her over and over again each day, the answer.. was yes. Unequivocally and always, yes.

And he would never doubt it again.

Love had finally shown him the way. And Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy were, always and forever, happy. 

_**THE END** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS!! This was my first ‘serious’ work, and first P&P. I loved doing it, and if another idea strikes me, I won’t hesitate to post another story. Thank you all for the comments and kudos along the way, it really helped me more than you know. I struggle with stress and melancholy, but writing this genuinely made me feel better than I have in months, and I wanted to thank you all for helping me with that. I love each and every one of you, and hope you enjoyed the story. Stay safe out there.  
> Love, sincerity, and stardust, Vinny 🌷


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